


Sherlock: The Other Holmes

by IBegToDreamAndDiffer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dating, Drug Addiction, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Marriage, Minor Violence, Romance, first mystrade i ever wrote, implied/off-screen torture, minor parent!strade, so no doubt heaps of mistakes and ooc moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-24 00:02:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 52,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/932666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBegToDreamAndDiffer/pseuds/IBegToDreamAndDiffer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>DI Lestrade was never one to shy away from trouble. That’s why he became a cop. But then Sherlock Holmes came along... and he brought his family, and a world of problems, to Lestrade’s front door. But sometimes those problems can be a blessing in disguise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Mystery Men

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:** Sorry for the long note, but there are a few things about this fic that I need to say. This was my very first Mystrade story; I wrote it back in October 2011. It was only the second time I had ever truly attempted writing fanfiction and the first time I'd written about a romantic gay pairing.
> 
> That being said, there are no doubt plenty of grammatical errors, plot errors, and the sex scenes are no doubt poorly researched and written. But it was my very first slash story, the story that started me writing Mystrade. So of course it's going to have mistakes- I wrote it two years ago and my writing is a lot better now.
> 
> I'm not going to go through the story and re-write it. I was happy with the story when I finished it two years ago and I'm still happy with it now. It marks the occasion when I truly got into fandom writing and the Mystrade pairing. Despite it's flaws, it's still my first ever Mystrade story, so it has a special place in my heart.
> 
> Anyway, I just wanted to get all that out before anyone on AO3 reads it. The story's been on FF.Net since 2011, but I'm posting it here because a few people have expressed the wish to read it here. So... there you go.
> 
> Cheers,
> 
> {Dreamer}

DI Gregory Lestrade had seen his fare share of horrors. Being a police officer brings you into contact with the seedy underbelly of society. But that didn’t prepare him for the insane route his life was about to take.

It was no surprise to Lestrade that he didn’t wince when he found the young man on the ground, curled in on himself.

Lestrade knew a junkie when he saw one and sighed. Why people had to go and throw their lives away was beyond him. But then again, he guessed that some people just needed to forget about the world. Wasn’t that why Lestrade drank?

The DI steeled himself for a violent confrontation as he knelt down and nudged the sleeping figure.

‘Come on, mate, get up.’

He received a grunt in reply.

‘Oi, get up!’ Lestrade said and pushed harder.

The man was suddenly sitting up-right and looking at Lestrade with clear eyes. He was a junkie, that much was clear from his thin frame, old clothes, and the track marks on his pale forearms. But the man wasn’t high, at least not at the moment.

‘You’re wrong.’

‘What?’ Lestrade asked, surprised at the well articulated voice that was speaking to him. The owner was in his mid to late twenties, with a mop of curly dark brown hair and bright, icy blue eyes.

The man sniffed and repeated, ‘You’re wrong.’

‘Wrong? About what?’

‘The murder,’ the man said.

Lestrade narrowed his eyes. ‘Who said anything about a murder?’

‘I heard you over there,’ the man said, gesturing down the alley. Blue and red lights were flashing off the walls from the police cars parked beside the murder scene. Lestrade had been there three minutes before spotting the figure curled up in the alley.

‘What do you know about it?’ Lestrade asked.

‘Tall man, at least three inches taller than me, with a slight limp in his left leg,’ the man said. ‘He strangled her from in front, meaning she knew him. I’d say boyfriend, because she’s wearing men’s cologne and a man’s sweatshirt. He killed her for her birthday money... she has a rich family.’

Lestrade froze, leaning over the man. He’d summarised most of that himself; at least the strangled from in front part. The rest... well, how could this man have guessed any of that? Unless...

‘Right, mate, I’m gonna have to take you in,’ Lestrade said and stood.

‘Oh, why?’ the man groaned, sounding like a spoilt child.

‘Why?’ Lestrade said, incredulous. ‘You know things about that crime that no innocent person should know. And you’re just lying here, metres from the scene.’

‘I passed out here after the crime,’ the man said. ‘I’m the one that called; I used her phone.’

‘Get up,’ Lestrade commanded and the man complied, though with a lot of groaning and swearing. Lestrade cuffed him and led him to one of the police cars.

‘I didn’t do it,’ the man grunted.

‘We’ll see,’ Lestrade said and pushed him into the car. ‘Name?’

The man ignored him and Lestrade sighed.

‘Give us your name, it’ll make this easier.’

‘Which is exactly why I’m not going to give you my name,’ the man grunted.

Lestrade frowned and slammed the door shut.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Two hours later they were driving back to Scotland Yard when suddenly a sleek black car sped alongside them. It screeched to a halt before the police cruiser and Lestrade stopped with a squeal of the breaks.

‘What the hell?’ he grunted and pulled off his seatbelt.

In the back, the nameless junkie huffed and said, ‘Of course he’d show up now.’

Sergeant Donovan told him to shut up as the driver exited the black car and came over to them.

‘Step out of the car, please.’

‘Hey, I’m a cop,’ Lestrade said, verging on severely pissed off. ‘Didn’t you notice the car?’

The man didn’t smile. ‘Sir, please step out of the car.’

‘Who the fu–’

‘There’s no need for cussing, Detective Inspector.’ Everybody, except the driver, turned at the new voice. A man was standing by the driver now. He was in his late thirties, about six foot two, wearing an impeccable three-piece suit with a gold chain hanging from his waistcoat. His dark brown hair was swept back and his blue eyes showed no emotion as he looked at them all.

He was handsome, Lestrade noted, in a classical kind of way. The expensive suits _really_ looked good on him.

Lestrade bit the inside of his cheek. _Straying off topic, Greg,_ he thought. These men were throwing him off balance.

‘Mycroft, what are you doing?’ the junkie in the back demanded.

The man, Mycroft, smiled and leaned on the black umbrella he was holding. ‘Sherlock, I only come to protect you from yourself.’

Sherlock rolled his eyes. ‘Just leave me alone.’

‘If I did that you’d be spending the night in a holding cell,’ Mycroft told him.

‘Better than spending it talking to you!’ Sherlock snapped.

‘Shut up!’ Lestrade shouted and all eyes turned to him. He stepped out of the police car, forcing the driver and the mysterious Mycroft back. ‘Who the bloody hell are you?’

‘Everyone is so intent on swearing these days,’ Mycroft tutted. His eyes roamed over Lestrade. While the detective was tall, at five foot ten he was still shorter then Mycroft, Sherlock, and the driver. The detective was very handsome, Mycroft noted, even if he didn’t realise it himself. ‘Detective Inspector, I am here to ask that you let my _little_ brother go,’ Mycroft continued, realising he’d been staring. He added emphasis on the word _little_ to annoy Sherlock.

Lestrade turned to look at the junkie, Sherlock. He could see the family resemblance; both were tall, thin, with sharp noses and a look that said they were smarter then everybody in the room and knew it.

‘No way,’ Lestrade said, turning back to look at Mycroft. ‘Your brother was found at a crime scene, we’re taking him in for questioning.’

‘I assure you that for all my brother’s faults, he is not a murderer,’ Mycroft said.

‘I’ll murder you,’ Sherlock muttered.

‘I don’t care what you think,’ Lestrade said, ignoring what Sherlock had said. ‘We’re taking him in.’

Mycroft smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. Lestrade got the feeling that the man faked a lot of emotions... or at least he didn’t let them show.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a slim mobile. He handed it to Lestrade and said, ‘Call your boss, Detective Inspector. I’m sure he’d love to hear from you. Just mention my name.’

‘And that would be?’ Lestrade demanded.

He smiled. ‘Mycroft Holmes.’

Lestrade did as he was asked, but only because he wanted this situation resolved. He was looking forward to making the junkie, whom he realised must be called Sherlock Holmes (bloody odd names), spend the night in a cell. Lestrade would make him confess, the case would be wrapped up, Mycroft Holmes would be told to piss off and Lestrade could drink himself into a stupor.

But it wasn’t to be. Twenty seconds was all it took for Lestrade to be told that Mycroft Holmes was a _very_ important man. There was no title, making Lestrade realise that Mycroft Holmes was more dangerous then he looked.

Lestrade handed back the mobile and Mycroft smiled, this time his eyes lighting up.

‘Thank you, Detective Inspector,’ he said. ‘Now, my brother?’

Donovan was asking questions but Lestrade ignored her as he let Sherlock out of the car and un-cuffed him.

‘Damn it, I can look after myself!’ Sherlock snarled at his brother.

Mycroft sighed as he took in Sherlock’s appearance; the dirty clothes, the thin frame, the sunken eyes... Lestrade saw real concern in the enigmatic man’s eyes.

‘Sherlock, please,’ Mycroft said. ‘Stop this.’

But Sherlock simply huffed and stormed away. He was a few metres away before he turned and shouted, ‘The boyfriend, Detective Inspector! Remember what I said!’

Lestrade stared as the younger Holmes disappeared into the night. When he finally turned back around, Mycroft Holmes and his driver were walking away.

‘That’s it?’ Lestrade demanded.

Mycroft nodded as his driver got into their car. ‘Indeed it is. Thank you for your co-operation, Detective Inspector.’

‘Not like I had a choice,’ Lestrade grumbled.

Mycroft smiled and his eyes ran up and down Lestrade once more; taking in the silver hair, dark brown eyes, and well-toned, wide-shouldered physique. It stirred feelings in Mycroft’s stomach that the government worker had thought were gone.

He pushed said feelings away and said, ‘Try not to get too drunk after this, Lestrade, you know how it makes your girlfriend worry.’

Lestrade’s mouth fell open as Mycroft Holmes climbed into his car and drove away.


	2. An Offer

It had started small and crept up on Lestrade; a small drink with colleagues after a long week, a solitary drink after a particularly horrible case... a solitary drink that had turned into a beer a night, and next thing you know Lestrade’s an alcoholic.

The hangovers had stopped but the sickness was still there; the guilt of having gotten completely off his head the night before. Lestrade would still get headaches and they followed him around all day as he puffed on a cigarette and tried to ignore the stares of his colleagues. They could sense it, smell it on him... and their pitying glances drove Lestrade up the wall.

Which was why he was so ticked off when a certain junkie stormed into Scotland Yard, mouthing off about a DI with a drinking problem who smoked way too much. Said junkie was thrown outside and waited ten minutes until Lestrade joined him.

‘What the bloody hell is wrong with you?’ Lestrade demanded as he lit a cigarette and blew smoke above his head.

‘A lot of things,’ Sherlock Holmes said and nicked Lestrade’s packet.

‘Oi!’

The packet was thrown back at him and Sherlock lit up, taking long drags with a shaky hand.

‘You alright?’ Lestrade asked, concern quickly out-weighing his anger.

‘Fine,’ Sherlock said, his voice clipped. ‘Just wondering if you solved that murder.’

Lestrade nodded and said, ‘Yeah, we pulled in the boyfriend. He cracked in a few minutes and confessed to the whole thing.’ He paused. ‘How’d you know?’

Sherlock rolled his eyes. ‘I told you; she was wearing his shirt, his cologne... I could tell she had a boyfriend from her unshaven legs. I could tell she had a lot of money from her phone and jewellery. And then there were the messages about the boyfriend to her family... long story short, I deduced it.’

‘Deduced it, right,’ Lestrade said. ‘You’re insane.’

‘What’s your point?’ Sherlock demanded.

Lestrade just shook his head. There were a few minutes of silence, where Sherlock nicked another cigarette, before Lestrade said, ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I just love police stations,’ Sherlock said, forcing the DI to look at him. ‘Don’t be thick; I want to help solve another case.’

‘What? Why?’

‘I haven’t shot up since that night,’ Sherlock admitted. ‘I didn’t need to... the case, it helped. Telling you all that stuff... it gave me the thrill I need.’

Lestrade said, ‘Be that as it may, I can’t let a junkie help on police cases.’

Sherlock pouted. ‘Why not?’

‘Because... because I can’t,’ Lestrade said. ‘Could you imagine the headlines?’

‘No,’ Sherlock said.

‘You’re a bloody junkie, a homeless one at that,’ Lestrade said and continued when Sherlock didn’t correct him. ‘I can’t let you help.’

Sherlock frowned and flicked his cigarette butt away. ‘Fine,’ he snapped and stormed away.

Lestrade watched him go, knowing it wouldn’t be the last time he saw the man.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Five, maybe six minutes had passed since Sherlock Holmes had stalked away. Lestrade was on his second cigarette when the sleek black car pulled up. The DI groaned as the back door opened and Mycroft Holmes stepped out.

‘Good afternoon, Detective Inspector,’ the elder Holmes smiled. He was dressed impeccably in a navy blue three-piece suit and Lestrade couldn’t help but notice the way it hugged his slim figure.

_Stop it,_ he berated himself. _You have a girlfriend, he’s a weirdo... just stop now._

‘Mr Holmes,’ Lestrade forced a smile and held out his hand. Mycroft shook it politely. ‘How can I help you?’

‘I believe you have seen my brother,’ Mycroft said.

Lestrade raised his eyebrows. How could this man possibly know that Sherlock had been here?

Oh, right, British Government and all that crap.

‘Yeah... he was just here,’ Lestrade said.

Mycroft nodded. ‘Yes, I know. I was curious, however, as to what he wanted.’

Lestrade looked Mycroft up and down, wondering what the man was doing. Was he honestly worried about Sherlock? Or did he just want to annoy his brother?

Finally Lestrade said, ‘He wanted a job.’

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. ‘A job? I was under the impression junkie’s couldn’t be police officers.’

‘No, well, he didn’t exactly want to be a cop,’ Lestrade said. ‘He wanted... I dunno, to help. He said he hasn’t shot up since that case three days ago.’

Mycroft nodded at that. ‘It is true, Detective Inspector. My... research, has shown that Sherlock, at the moment, is clean. But after your refusal, I fear he’ll fall again.’

‘How do you know I refused?’ Lestrade asked, aware that his cigarette was burning out. He flicked it away and pulled another from his packet.

‘May I?’ Mycroft asked, gesturing with a nod at the packet. Lestrade nodded and handed one to Mycroft, who quickly lit it with a lighter of his own. He blew smoke above his head and said, ‘I indulge myself every now and then. Now seemed like a good time.’

Lestrade looked at his own. He really had to quit. He smoked a packet and a half every day.

‘How do you know I refused?’ Lestrade asked again and Mycroft smiled. Clearly the detective wanted answers. And being a police officer... well, he wouldn’t be happy with anything other than a straight answer.

‘You are a good, honest police officer,’ Mycroft said. ‘Despite my brother’s help you weren’t about to soil the good name of Scotland Yard by hiring a junkie. I knew Sherlock would ask if he could help as he is currently clean. My brother needs... a puzzle, Detective. He needs something to keep that brilliant mind of his active. Unfortunately the drugs do just that. But now he’s found something else...’

He trailed off and took a long drag, Lestrade doing the same.

‘I think we can help each other, Lestrade,’ Mycroft said.

‘You do?’

Mycroft nodded. ‘If my brother agrees to stay clean, and you’ll have to do random searches of his flat to make sure, then I think there’s no harm in him helping you.’

‘You want me to hire him?’ Lestrade asked.

‘On a freelance basis, yes,’ the elder Holmes said and flicked ash onto the ground. ‘He’ll be paid, you’ll catch killers, and dear Sherlock will stop his brain from melting. I think it’s a win-win situation, Detective Inspector.’

Lestrade paused, thinking about that. It was true, Sherlock had helped. He was obviously brilliant from the information Lestrade had pulled up; fancy schools (thrown out of all of them), fancy university (didn’t graduate due to blowing up the chemistry lab), fancy job (until drugs took him away). Despite all his problems, it was clear Sherlock Holmes was a man of great brilliance. And if he could solve cases like he had the other night... if he could see things nobody else could...

Lestrade glanced up at Mycroft. ‘I’d have to make sure he can actually help.’

Mycroft smiled. ‘Give him some solved cases and see if he can solve them, simple as. Make sure he does it here, though. We don’t want case files turning up in a crack house somewhere.’

Mycroft flicked his cigarette away and smiled at Lestrade. ‘Until we meet again, Detective Inspector.’

Lestrade nodded and watched Mycroft climb into his car and drive away.


	3. Drinking Problem

Sherlock Holmes was brilliant. He was rude, arrogant, annoying, hostile, but absolutely brilliant. He solved each and every case Gregory Lestrade handed to him, usually in the space of a few hours. He would mock Lestrade as he did, commenting on the poor police work. It was all Lestrade could do not to punch Sherlock in the face. Firstly, he was a police officer, and hitting innocent (albeit annoying) citizens was never a good thing. And secondly... well, Lestrade remembered who Sherlock’s brother was.

Finally, after a drug test, Sherlock was hired on a temporary basis. Lestrade couldn’t perform a drug’s bust because the recovering junkie was currently homeless. Lestrade knew the elder Holmes would be able to help but he had already witnessed their strained relationship. Sherlock wasn’t someone who accepted help easily.

Mycroft Holmes watched all of this from his office. On a small computer screen he could see Sherlock throw a file at Lestrade, who retaliated by pushing Sherlock from his chair. The younger Holmes grumbled and went back to work.

Mycroft smiled. Lestrade actually cared, despite only knowing Sherlock for a week. And he was able to put up with the eccentric man. Lestrade was a very strong and smart man, Mycroft could see that. He didn’t let Sherlock push him around, didn’t let anyone push him around. Mycroft respected his strength of character.

He was normal, yes. Lestrade liked football, and cigarettes, and cups of tea and watching crappy TV. All the things that Mycroft hated about normal people looked spectacular when Lestrade did them.

All of these things, the strength and the ability to endure shitty TV shows, made Mycroft care for Lestrade more than he was willing to admit. Despite this, his eyes didn’t shift from Lestrade for the next hour.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


The first case was difficult... at least to everybody who wasn’t Sherlock Holmes. He solved it within a day, where Lestrade had been pulling his greying hair out. With harsh words, Sherlock informed them of his deductions and left, receiving snarls and comments from Lestrade’s team.

Despite his hostility, Sherlock was brilliant.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Lestrade got home that night, looking forward to some food and a good rest. He made some instant noodles, settling in front of the telly with a beer, and watched football.

An hour later he was good and drunk, sitting and staring at the TV without paying attention. His stomach was full, there were no murders as of yet, and Lestrade’s eyes were swimming. He was happy, comfortable, and content.

Which was why he swore when there was a knock on his door. He sighed, glanced at his watch (two-fucking-thirty in the morning) and stood on wobbly legs to answer it.

Sherlock Holmes swept into the flat with a twirl of his new dark coat. He pulled off his dark blue scarf and said, ‘Evening, Inspector.’

Sherlock had been looking better these past weeks. Lestrade had only known him two months (how time flies) and though Sherlock was still unnaturally skinny, he was looking healthier.

‘What are you doing here?’ Lestrade asked.

‘I need a place to sleep,’ Sherlock admitted. ‘And as comfortable as park benches are, I thought you might let me sleep on your couch.’

He looked up at Lestrade expectantly before his eyes washed over the room. He noted the TV playing a Doctor Who re-run (Sherlock personally didn’t care for the show) and the beer bottles on the table. He looked back at Lestrade.

‘You’re drunk.’

‘So what?’ Lestrade said. He was tired and didn’t care for a fight. ‘Fine, sleep on the couch, just don’t touch anything.’

‘May I move the beer bottles?’ he asked, gesturing to the three that had fallen between the pillows.

Lestrade nodded and disappeared into his room.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


It was in the a few hours later that Lestrade awoke to his door opening. He stiffened slightly, wondering if it was a burglary. But then he heard the voice.

‘I just wanted...’ Sherlock paused and Lestrade waited. ‘Thank you, Detective Inspector,’ Sherlock said.

Lestrade realised that the young man thought he was asleep. He stayed still, breathing deeply, as Sherlock continued.

‘Thanks, I guess, for getting me clean and giving me a purpose,’ Sherlock said. ‘Just... thank you.’

And then he left. Lestrade was grinning broadly.

The detective didn’t mention it the next morning, or any other morning. Sherlock Holmes had shown that he was capable of emotion and Lestrade wasn’t about to make fun of him for it.

This small show was why, in the following years, Lestrade would be able to deal with Sherlock’s eccentric behaviour and rude words. Because deep down, Lestrade knew that Sherlock actually cared.

And that just made him smile when Sherlock called him an idiot.

And that made Sherlock angry and confused.

And that made Lestrade laugh.

And that made Sherlock solve the case quickly to shut the detective up.

And that made Lestrade stop drinking.

And that made Mycroft Holmes, who would never admit it (not even to himself), like Gregory Lestrade a whole lot more


	4. Sherlock Deduces

In the following five years, Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade crossed paths regularly. Whether it was due to a murder or Sherlock’s strange behaviour, both were slightly thrilled whenever they clapped eyes on each other. Neither would admit to it, however.

Lestrade was very aware that he found the older Holmes very attractive, even more so then Sherlock. While Sherlock was very good looking, there was something about Mycroft that caught Lestrade’s eye. That and the fact that he wasn’t severely annoying made Lestrade look at him in a way he’d never look at Sherlock. He pushed this away, though. The man, as far as Lestrade could tell, was asexual, and never looked at Lestrade as anything more than an acquaintance (how wrong Lestrade was!). This attraction was part of the reason Lestrade and his girlfriend broke up (that coupled with his late nights and Sherlock always crashing on the couch).

Mycroft’s growing attraction to Lestrade refused to go away. Mycroft was not inexperienced with sex; he’d experimented in university and found he liked both sexes. But he wasn’t a man who felt anything beyond sexual attraction. When he needed to he dabbled in sex but left it at one night stands. He didn’t fall in love. Which was why his feelings for Lestrade were so confusing.

He often found himself thinking about the man, even dreaming about him, and the only conclusion he could come to was that he wanted a relationship. A proper one, not a one night stand. He wanted to wake up next to Lestrade, eat breakfast with him, and fuck him so hard he couldn’t walk right.

But he couldn’t... he couldn’t let himself feel that way. It was a weakness for a person in Mycroft’s position to become romantically attached to someone. Said someone was helping his brother, who despite small slips, was cleaner than he ever had been before.

And Mycroft wasn’t about to ruin that for a small chance at happiness, not even if it meant he was frustrated beyond belief that he couldn’t touch, smell, or taste Gregory Lestrade.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Sherlock was solving cases and getting paid but that didn’t stop him ending up homeless every other week. His experiments caused friction between him, his neighbours, and his landlords. More than once Gregory Lestrade was called to a domestic dispute where it turned out Sherlock had smuggled human body parts into his flat.

At least he wasn’t killing people was what Lestrade took away with him. That and a homeless man.

Whenever he got kicked out, Sherlock ended up on Lestrade’s couch (when he actually felt tired enough and wasn’t working).

The DI didn’t mind much, apart from Sherlock’s continued smoking and playing the violin at ungodly hours. Besides that, Sherlock was okay to live with. He was eccentric, but Lestrade already knew that. He kept mostly to himself, only raiding the fridge when he needed to conduct “experiments”. For the rest of his life, Lestrade would always check the milk before drinking it.

This change in venues hadn’t gone unnoticed by Mycroft Holmes. While he was glad his brother wasn’t living in a crack house, he was uncomfortable with the thought of Sherlock and Lestrade living together... with only one bedroom. This discomfort turned into annoyance and then full blown rage.

Mycroft couldn’t stand the thought of Lestrade ( _Gregory_ in his mind) falling for his little brother. They’d known each other for five years but that didn’t mean a romance wouldn’t blossom suddenly. Lestrade would be a good influence, he already was, but Mycroft... what? Mycroft loved him? Needed him? Couldn’t stand to see him with anyone else?

Mycroft wasn’t ready to explore these feelings fully (although five years would be enough for any normal person to realise that they were in love), or to reveal them to the Detective Inspector. So while he tried to figure himself out, he had to get Sherlock away from Lestrade.

Which was why he found himself travelling to Lestrade’s flat on a Wednesday evening. It was cold (always was in London) and Mycroft buttoned up his coat as he stepped out of his maroon car, leaving his assistant Hermione (she was using Harry Potter names these past months), in the car.

His ever present umbrella tapped against the elevator floor as Mycroft travelled to Lestrade’s floor. Surveillance showed that Sherlock and the Inspector weren’t in a romantic relationship... Mycroft just hoped it was still that way.

Sherlock answered the door and was less than thrilled to see his brother. He ran a hand through his curly locks and stepped back.

‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded.

He expected Mycroft to lie, to say he was just checking up. Instead he said, ‘I want you out of Lestrade’s flat, now, Sherlock.’

Sherlock paused, looking his brother up and down. It wasn’t often that he was generally confused. ‘What?’

Mycroft leaned against his umbrella, the knuckles on his right hand turning white. ‘Sherlock, I can help you find a place. There’s a nice flat on Montague Street.’ He held up a hand before Sherlock could interrupt. ‘I won’t pay for it, I’ll just help you get it. With this new “Consulting Detective” job, you’ll be able to afford it. Please, just leave Lestrade alone. He has enough to deal with without a recovering junkie sleeping on his couch.’

Sherlock looked at his brother carefully, looking, focusing, _deducing._ He took in Mycroft’s eyes, the white knuckles, the way he seemed generally annoyed that Sherlock was here. And then he ran through all the other times Mycroft had mentioned, or been near, DI Lestrade. And then, so quickly, it hit him.

‘Oh,’ Sherlock breathed.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

‘Oh,’ the youngest Holmes repeated.

His brother sighed. ‘Care to share your reasons for muttering?’

Sherlock grinned suddenly, staring at his brother. ‘Oh my God,’ he said, something he wasn’t used to saying. ‘I don’t believe it... I honestly don’t believe it. I just... my own brother.’

Mycroft was confused, something he wasn’t used to either. ‘Excuse me?’ he asked.

‘You... you _like_ him,’ Sherlock said, eyes wide. ‘You like Lestrade.’

Mycroft nearly jumped. His brother was smart (everybody within a ten-foot radius knew that), but Mycroft was smarter, always had been. While being a few IQ points higher than Sherlock, he was also better at keeping his emotions locked up. Sherlock’s emotions ranged from joy, to boredom, to anger, and he didn’t care who saw it. But Mycroft, with his job and family, had always been so good at keeping his true feelings a secret.

But now Sherlock knew. Oh boy, did he know.

‘You like Lestrade,’ Sherlock continued and his eyes darted to the bathroom door where the Holmeses could hear Lestrade showering. ‘You’re attracted to him, aren’t you?’ he asked.

There was no sense in denying it, but Mycroft tried.

‘Stop being childish, Sherlock.’

‘I’m childish?’ Sherlock said. ‘You want me out of here because you’re worried I’ll hop into bed with our dear Inspector.’

Once again Mycroft’s hands tightened and Sherlock smiled.

‘You need not fear, brother,’ Sherlock smirked. ‘DI Lestrade is not my type. It seems he is yours, though. I’m curious, for you’ve never shown an interest in anyone who wouldn’t just be a one night shag... when did you start having a type?’

Mycroft frowned. ‘Since I saw Detective Inspector Lestrade.’

It was one of the most honest things Mycroft had ever said to his brother, and for once Sherlock didn’t berate him. Instead he smiled and began collecting his things.

‘So, this flat?’

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. ‘You actually want my help?’

‘No, you want _my_ help,’ Sherlock corrected. ‘You want me out of here so Lestrade doesn’t fall for me. But don’t worry, Mycroft. He may think I’m handsome, but I’m too annoying.’

He quickly scribbled a note for Lestrade and joined his brother at the door.

‘Do me a favour, Mycroft,’ Sherlock said.

‘What?’

‘Don’t wait too long,’ Sherlock said, with a note of sincerity in his voice. Mycroft’s eyebrows jumped so far up his face he was in danger of losing them.

‘Are you... do you honestly care about my happiness?’

And then the trademark smirk was back.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. If you and Lestrade strike up a romantic relationship, both of you will be far too busy to annoy me. And who knows, perhaps you’ll stop spending all your time stalking me.’

He dashed to the elevator before Mycroft could say anything.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Greg Lestrade exited his bathroom to find Mycroft Holmes, not Sherlock, standing in his living room.

‘Mr Holmes?’ he questioned, towelling his hair. It stuck up in a flattering manner that made Mycroft’s heart beat quickly. That and the smell of the Inspector’s shampoo had him clearing his throat and trying not to breathe.

‘Good evening, Detective Inspector,’ Mycroft smiled. ‘I have recently become aware of my brother’s... living arrangements.’

Lestrade nodded and looked around. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen.

‘My brother will be living on Montague Street,’ Mycroft informed him. ‘I’ve taken him out of your hair.’

Lestrade nodded, ‘Oh, okay. It was alright, though. Despite practising the violin at three in the morning, he’s not that bad to live with.’

Mycroft felt actual physical pains at these words. Did Lestrade like Sherlock after all? Lestrade seemed to notice the change in his demeanour.

‘Are you okay?’

Mycroft blinked and smiled swiftly, though it was strained. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Quite alright. I’m sure Sherlock will inform you of his new address.’

He moved to go and Lestrade said, ‘Wait.’

Mycroft turned.

Lestrade closed the distance between them and stood before Mycroft. He caught a hint of the younger man’s cologne and so badly wanted to touch him, run his fingers through his hair, _kiss_ him.

But this was Sherlock’s brother. And if Lestrade did something wrong he knew Mycroft had the power to make his life hell... or end it.

So rather than say what he wanted to say, (‘ _God, fuck me now_!’) he stepped back and said, ‘Thanks for getting Sherlock a flat. He could use the space for his... uh, experiments.’

Mycroft swallowed, trying to ignore the tantalising smell that was Lestrade’s shampoo. ‘It’s my job, Inspector,’ he said smoothly. ‘Until we meet again.’

Lestrade nodded and watched as Mycroft left.


	5. The Most Dangerous Man

Sherlock made no mention to Lestrade of his brother’s feelings. He made no mention of them to Mycroft either. Mycroft wondered why his brother hadn’t used this to his advantage. He could study the results of informing Lestrade’s team that Mycroft Holmes, _the_ British Government, was very much in love with the DI.

But he didn’t.

So Mycroft was left to watch Lestrade from afar, keeping his surveillance up even when Sherlock moved out. He worried about the DI constantly; worried about him getting hurt on the job. Being a cop was a dangerous job and getting hurt on a case was routine. A few scrapes, a stabbing, possibly even a shooting. It was something experienced by everyone. Mycroft was just waiting for the day that Lestrade got seriously injured while chasing a murderer through London.

So it was a surprise when Lestrade got hurt at home.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


The DI had just been scolded by Sherlock Holmes (who had solved the case in five hours) and wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone. Two years ago he would have gotten completely shit-faced but not any more No, now he went home, had a warm bowl of soup and the occasional cigarette, watched bad TV and went to sleep.

Not tonight, though.

It was three months after John Watson had moved in with Sherlock. The army doctor was proving to be a good companion and Lestrade felt that Sherlock didn’t need his supervision as much any more There would still be the occasional drugs bust, but Sherlock was in good hands with John. Lestrade just wished they would shag already. The sexual tension between the two was giving Lestrade a headache.

It had been a few weeks since the pool incident and Sherlock had been running himself ragged looking for Moriarty. But as of yet the criminal hadn’t made an appearance...

Not bothered to wait for the elevator, Lestrade climbed the stairs to the fourth floor. He turned right and came to his flat.

He’d barely got the keys out when he was hit from behind. Lestrade fell into the wall and tried to turn but received a sharp blow to the back. He shouted in pain and threw his head back, catching the attacker in the face. But the man was quick and he pulled a knife, slashing at Lestrade when the DI turned.

Lestrade fell back against the wall and stopped, blood leaking from his hand. He looked up at his attacker.

He was a young man, mid-thirties, with short dark brown hair and dark eyes. He was wearing a well-pressed suit and grinned crazily at Lestrade, holding a long knife.

‘Good evening, Detective Inspector.’ He had a high pitched voice and a twitch to the head that made Lestrade think of a reptile. ‘Please open your door and let’s head inside, I hate conducting business in corridors.’

‘Who are you?’ Lestrade asked as he opened his door. The man was crazy, that much was clear, and Lestrade knew he’d be dead quicker then he could get at the man.

‘Oh, I’m hurt, Inspector,’ the man said as he shut Lestrade’s door behind him. ‘We haven’t met, true, but I do hope you’ve heard of me.’

And then it fell into place and Lestrade exhaled. ‘Moriarty.’

He grinned. ‘Yes, Jim Moriarty, at your service.’

‘What are you doing here?’ Lestrade asked, standing in his living room staring at the lunatic. ‘What do you want?’

‘Oh, I want to play a game, Gregory,’ Moriarty said. ‘I’ve warned Sherlock that I’d come here and I’m sure he’s on his way.’

That was the only hope that Lestrade had; hopefully Sherlock and John, with his ever trusty gun, would come and save him. It killed Lestrade that he needed Sherlock like that but faced with a mad-man, he was glad he had someone like Sherlock Holmes.

‘I might kill you, Gregory, I might not,’ Moriarty continued. ‘I’m not quite sure at the moment.’

‘Why me?’ Lestrade asked.

‘John Watson stays too close to Sherlock,’ Moriarty said. ‘And I was... well, let’s just say I can’t hurt John or Sherlock in the way I’d like.’

Lestrade was confused. ‘What– what do you mean?’

Moriarty seemed disgusted as he talked. ‘I made a certain promise to someone who has the ability to end my life. Let’s just say that promise was to not seriously hurt Sherlock Holmes or John Watson.’

Lestrade didn’t understand. Who would be powerful enough, and dangerous enough, to scare Jim Moriarty?

The front door opened and Moriarty moved close to the window so he could keep Lestrade and the newcomer in view. Lestrade’s eyes went wide when Mycroft Holmes entered, his ever present umbrella in one hand.

‘Good evening, Detective Inspector,’ Mycroft said, eyes raking over Lestrade for wounds. His eyes fixed on Lestrade’s hand, which he had clutched to his chest. It was bleeding profusely and Lestrade knew it’d need stitches.

‘Hello, Mycroft,’ Moriarty said, eyes flicking between the government official and the inspector.

‘James,’ Mycroft said and his eyes grew dark. Lestrade was surprised to see the fury in Mycroft’s body. He’d never seen so much emotion come from the man. ‘I thought we discussed this.’

Moriarty seemed confused and the hand holding the knife twitched slightly. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘We talked about this, James,’ Mycroft said. ‘I thought I’d made myself clear in regards to the health of certain people.’

‘But...’ Moriarty started and Lestrade looked at him. The man seemed... scared? No, that couldn’t be right. He had a knife, Lestrade and Mycroft were weapon-less. Why would he be scared? ‘I haven’t hurt them.’

‘I warned you, James!’ Mycroft snarled and Lestrade jumped slightly. So did Moriarty. ‘We had an arrangement. The only reason you’re still free is that I didn’t see the need to kill you just yet. But you’ve broken your promise and I can’t have that.’

‘I haven’t hurt them,’ Moriarty said. ‘Sherlock and John are okay.’

‘I told you not to hurt the people I cared about!’ Mycroft shouted. ‘I will not stand for this!’

The window behind Moriarty cracked and sprayed the room with glass. Something hit Moriarty in the back and his eyes went wide before he dropped, the knife clattering across the floorboards.

Lestrade breathed a sigh of relief and dropped. Mycroft appeared by his side holding the first aid kit Lestrade kept in his kitchen. He pulled Lestrade to his feet and directed the DI to the couch, where they both sat down. Mycroft grabbed Lestrade’s hand and dabbed at it with wet gauze. He proceeded to clean up and bandage the wound.

‘Why are you here?’ the DI asked suddenly.

Mycroft smiled at the sound of his voice; he hadn’t heard it in person in weeks.

‘I’m cleaning you up, Inspector,’ Mycroft said.

‘Yeah, but why are you here?’ Lestrade asked. ‘You didn’t just come around to clean me up.’

Mycroft paused, his anger now deflating at Moriarty’s unconsciousness. He’d come to save Lestrade’s life. He’d been having dinner at a restaurant around the corner when his assistant, who was going by Janice this week, had stepped in and informed him that Moriarty had been seen in Lestrade’s building. Mycroft had rushed over straight away.

But he couldn’t tell Lestrade that.

‘I just wanted to see that Sherlock wasn’t back here,’ Mycroft lied. ‘He and his doctor friend fight a lot; I was worried he’d end up back on your couch.’

Lestrade snorted. ‘Those two are like an old married couple. If only they were shagging, that’d stop Sherlock storming about crime scenes like a lunatic.’

‘My brother would be a lunatic whether he was getting shagged or not,’ Mycroft said and Lestrade laughed.

‘Yeah, I suppose so,’ he said. ‘But Moriarty,’ Lestrade continued once Mycroft had snapped the first aid kit shut. ‘What promise did he make?’

Mycroft sighed. He didn’t want to have this conversation. But Lestrade wanted answers...

‘I’ve been aware of Moriarty’s existence for a number of years. However dangerous he may appear, he was good at getting rid of certain crime organisations that had been causing me some annoyance. We crossed paths a number of times and he knew I wouldn’t have him... removed, until the time was right. He then started playing with Sherlock and I warned him that if Sherlock was seriously injured... well, I am not a man to be messed with, Detective Inspector.’

Lestrade didn’t doubt that. In those moments, glaring at Moriarty, Lestrade hadn’t doubted just how dangerous Mycroft Holmes was.

‘He broke his promise,’ Mycroft said. ‘I couldn’t allow him to do that.’

‘What promise?’ Lestrade asked again.

Mycroft hesitated before saying, ‘His promise to not hurt anyone I cared about.’

Lestrade’s mouth opened in surprise but he didn’t say anything. Mycroft was suddenly aware of how close he and the DI were; they were sitting on the couch facing each other, their knees pressed together.

Mycroft leaned back and said, ‘Well, I think I should go. I have to deal with Moriarty.’

‘No, you don’t have to,’ Lestrade said quickly. He cursed himself when Mycroft turned, an eyebrow raised. ‘Um... you could, well, stay until the ambulance gets here. I’ll call one now.’

The tension between them was paramount. Sherlock and John weren’t the only two who needed a shag.

Lestrade stood to get his phone but a wave of dizziness crashed over him. He wobbled and Mycroft grabbed him.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah, fine,’ Lestrade mumbled. He looked up and his eyes connected with Mycroft’s.

They were both close, so close. And then Lestrade was leaning forward and his lips were millimetres from Mycroft’s...

But the younger man stopped him with a firm hand to the chest.

Mycroft’s eyes were closed and he breathed heavily, his breath washing over Lestrade. In turn Lestrade’s breath was sending shivers down Mycroft’s entire frame.

‘That’s... a bad idea,’ Mycroft murmured. He couldn’t get involved with Lestrade... he couldn’t offer him happiness. If Sherlock caught wind that they were together... well, he was okay with Mycroft having a crush. But what would he do if they formed a relationship? Would he hate his brother for taking away one of his only friends?

But it was so hard. Mycroft loved this man. Yes, he admitted it, even if only to himself. He wanted Lestrade so very much...

And Lestrade wanted him. Wanted to grab him, throw him down, and never let go. He wanted to see Mycroft naked, wanted to run his hands along his body and touch him in so many places...

Mycroft blinked and swallowed, forcing himself back.

‘I have to go.’

‘Why?’ Lestrade asked.

Mycroft didn’t have an answer. How about, “Because I’m madly in love with you and want to spend a week in bed?”

No, not a good answer. Thankfully the door behind them burst open and Mycroft and Lestrade stepped away from each other.

‘Lestrade!’ Sherlock shouted but froze. He quickly took in the scene; Mycroft and Lestrade alive, Moriarty on the floor.

‘Sherlock?’ Lestrade questioned as the consulting detective breathed out a sigh of relief. Beside him John Watson was panting.

‘Moriarty called, said he was going after you,’ Sherlock said and looked at his brother. ‘I see you got here before me.’

‘Yes, the situation is under control,’ Mycroft said and pulled his arms away from Lestrade. ‘Sherlock, take Lestrade to the hospital. After that, back to Baker Street, all of you. My men will make sure you’re okay.’

Sherlock nodded and said, ‘Come on, Lestrade.’

‘Wait, what about Moriarty?’ Lestrade asked.

Mycroft was standing over the body, frowning at him.

‘Mycroft will take care of him,’ Sherlock said. ‘Come on.’

Finally Lestrade complied and he, Sherlock and John left the flat. Mycroft glared down at Moriarty.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Jim Moriarty felt groggy as he woke. _Tranquiliser_ , he mused. _I knew Holmes wouldn’t kill me._ He opened his eyes and found that he was tied to a chair in a warehouse. It was dark, with a single bright light overhead. Moriarty turned and saw a table beside him, a single knife sitting atop.

‘You’re awake.’

Moriarty looked up as the speaker stepped into the light. Mycroft Holmes removed his coat and dropped it over the chair he’d been sitting on.

‘Ah, the illustrious Mycroft Holmes,’ Moriarty grinned, ‘have you come out of the shadows to play?’

‘You’re done playing, James,’ Mycroft said.

Moriarty detected the anger in his voice. ‘I don’t understand what I’ve done, Mycroft. I didn’t harm your brother or his pet. I thought we had an understanding.’

Mycroft raked his eyes over the criminal consultant. He didn’t like anything he saw.

‘The only reason you’re alive, James, is because you weren’t bothersome enough to remove. I allowed you to play your games within the criminal world because you helped me by removing certain organisations. I was going to take you out soon; your criminal empire was becoming far too big.’

He paused and curled his fingers.

‘I still don’t understand,’ Moriarty said. He was beginning to panic now. Clearly this was no game and Moriarty eyed the knife on the table. While Mycroft Holmes rarely got his hands dirty, when he did he liked to use a knife, not a gun.

‘When you started playing your game with Sherlock, I warned you not to hurt him, James,’ Mycroft said. ‘You stayed true to your word until that pool incident. Sherlock and Dr Watson were lucky to make it out alive. But still, I let you remain free because sometimes Sherlock needs a game... and there were those criminals. But now...’

‘Now?’

Mycroft stepped forward and gripped Moriarty’s arms tightly, so tightly Moriarty gasped in pain.

‘I warned you, Moriarty!’ he snarled. ‘I told you to stay away from the people I love!’

‘Sherlock and Watson are fine, I didn’t hurt them!’ Moriarty shouted, blood pooling on his skin from where Mycroft’s nails had bit into him.

‘You went after the man I love!’ Mycroft shouted. ‘You hurt him, Moriarty, and now I’m going to fucking hurt you!’

Moriarty gasped. ‘I– I didn’t know!’ he said. ‘Honestly, I didn’t know!’

Mycroft stepped back. ‘I warned you not to cross me, James. You know I’m smarter then you.’

‘Yes, you are!’ Moriarty agreed. ‘Please, I didn’t know! I won’t go near him again!’

It was interesting to see Moriarty beg for his life. Usually he was so calm, so in control. But now he was at the mercy of Mycroft Holmes, a man that surpassed him in brilliance and danger.

Mycroft stepped over and picked up the knife. He ran a finger across its edge.

‘I told you I was a dangerous man, James, and I gave you so many chances. But now your usefulness has come to an end. You broke your word and I cannot forgive that.’

‘You’re a good man, Mycroft Holmes!’ Moriarty said and Mycroft looked at him. ‘I know you’ve killed people yourself, but you won’t kill me. You’re too good for that, I know it.’

Mycroft smiled and stepped closer, his eyes glinting dangerously. ‘I _am_ a good man, James Moriarty,’ he said, ‘but _you_ don’t deserve my goodness.’

Moriarty’s screams would echo around the warehouse for hours. But nobody was around to hear them.


	6. What I Want

Greg Lestrade had had a rough night. Even with some pain killers his hand hurt like hell. He’d woken up on Sherlock’s and John’s couch. Neither were awake and Lestrade had left quickly, going back to his place to change clothes. The window had been fixed, there was no trace of last night’s events.

Lestrade’s mind replayed what had happened last night; Moriarty’s appearance, his and Mycroft’s conversation, Mycroft’s rescue... and then his saying that Moriarty had promised not to hurt anyone he cared about.

Did Mycroft care about him? Is that what he had been saying? Had he killed Moriarty because the criminal had gone after Lestrade, someone Mycroft was close to? Lestrade needed something to calm himself down and bought his first packet of cigarettes in three months. He lit one quickly and took a deep drag, blowing smoke above his head.

_Aaaaaaahhh,_ was the only though going through Lestrade’s head... until he saw the black car.

He gulped as Mycroft Holmes stepped out of the back and promptly walked across to him, his ever present umbrella tapping against the pavement.

‘Good morning, Detective Inspector,’ Mycroft said with a nod.

‘Good morning, Mr Holmes,’ Lestrade replied. After last night... he just couldn’t call him Mycroft. At least not out loud.

The use of his last name pained Mycroft but it didn’t show. He nodded at Lestrade’s hand. ‘How are you feeling?’

Lestrade shrugged. ‘Had worse.’

‘But you’ve started smoking again,’ Mycroft said.

Lestrade remembered the second time he and Mycroft had met. ‘Would you like one?’

Mycroft thanked him and lit his cigarette. The two men smoked in silence, occasionally looking at each other when they were sure the other wasn’t aware. The attraction was evident to everybody who walked past but the two men were completely and idiotically oblivious to how the other felt.

‘Why are you here?’ Lestrade finally asked.

Mycroft looked down at his cigarette as he answered. ‘My brother will be around soon. I wanted to... how do they say... offer you back up?’

Lestrade raised an eyebrow and Mycroft couldn’t help but smile.

‘After last night I knew you’d be in no mood to deal with my brother. I’m here to help.’

‘Why would your brother come ’round?’ Lestrade asked. ‘We just closed a case.’

Mycroft sighed. ‘Unfortunately, Sherlock and Dr Watson have yet to act on their mutual feelings. So Sherlock is a little... tense at the moment.’

_He’s not the only one_ , Lestrade thought absentmindedly, looking Mycroft up and down. _Oh God, that suit..._

Lestrade cleared his throat. ‘Well, I guess we’ll see what happens.’ He paused before saying, ‘Where’s Moriarty?’

Mycroft’s eyes darkened. ‘He’s been taken care of.’

Lestrade didn’t know what to say. Mycroft was obviously a dangerous man... had he killed Moriarty himself? Lestrade wanted answers but Mycroft wasn’t looking at him. Should he bring up the almost kiss...?

‘Mycroft!’

Both turned at the shout and Mycroft smiled at Sherlock and John Watson. Sherlock glared at his brother and John smiled warmly, nodding a hello to Lestrade.

‘What are you doing here, Mycroft?’ Sherlock demanded.

‘Visiting a friend,’ Mycroft said.

Sherlock snorted. ‘Friend, right.’

Mycroft glared at his brother, who glared back. They seemed to be having a silent argument, leaving Lestrade and John in the middle.

‘Stop following me, Mycroft,’ Sherlock said. ‘I can take care of myself.’

Mycroft sighed. ‘If only that were true, little brother.’

John said, ‘Where’d you disappear to this morning?’

‘Had to change my clothes,’ Lestrade said.

‘Is your hand okay?’ John asked.

‘Yeah,’ Lestrade said, ‘the doctors did a good job.’

Sherlock leaned forward and grabbed a smoke from Lestrade’s pack, lighting it quickly.

‘Sherlock,’ John tutted but the genius continued smoking. 

Sherlock smiled at him before moving on to Mycroft. ‘So tell me, brother. Why were you at your dear _friend’s_ house last night?’

Mycroft glared at Sherlock. ‘I was checking to make sure you weren’t annoying our Inspector,’ he said. ‘You know how irritating you can be, Sherlock.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Sherlock said and grinned. ‘Very annoying. I often tell people things about themselves they don’t know... or I tell them things about other people...’

He trailed off and Mycroft’s glare, if possible, got even darker.

John didn’t know what they were fighting about but he knew it was about to get very bad very quickly.

‘So, Sherlock wanted a new case, I told him he wouldn’t get one, and you’re injured,’ John said quickly. ‘I’d say we should all move on with our lives.’

But Sherlock made no movement and John sighed. Ever so slightly, Sherlock’s body twitched at John’s exclamation and Mycroft smiled, grounding out his cigarette. Sherlock wasn’t the only one who could see when people were infatuated.

‘Do tell me, Sherlock, what it’s like living with a doctor,’ Mycroft asked. Sherlock’s body froze. ‘It must be good, having someone who can... take care of you,’ he continued. ‘He must have good hands...’

He trailed off and earned confused looks from Lestrade and John. But Sherlock understood what Mycroft was saying. _Mess with my love life and I’ll mess with yours_

‘Fine,’ Sherlock snapped and flicked his cigarette away. He nodded at Lestrade, glared at his brother, and told John he’d meet him back at the flat.

Mycroft grinned triumphantly and John asked, ‘What was that about?’

The elder Holmes raised an eyebrow. ‘Whatever do you mean?’

John just shook his head.

‘Well, I’m afraid I must be off,’ Mycroft said. ‘Work doesn’t wait. Doctor Watson, always a pleasure.’

‘Yeah,’ John said, ‘a pleasure.’

Mycroft looked at Lestrade. ‘Goodbye, Detective Inspector.’

Lestrade nodded as Mycroft left, entering his expensive car and disappearing. Once he was out of sight Lestrade let out an audible sigh and earned a look from John Watson.

‘Nothing, nothing, I’m fine,’ the DI said.

He and John had become firm friends in the last month and while they knew that both were bisexual, neither had stated a preference or even someone they liked. It was obvious John was in love with Sherlock. But John hadn’t realised that Lestrade was in the same predicament... not until he saw the look on Lestrade’s face when Mycroft left.

‘Oh,’ he said, ‘that’s what Sherlock meant.’

‘What?’ Lestrade asked.

‘Well...’ John began, suddenly feeling awkward. ‘He kept saying things about you... and Mycroft.’

Lestrade felt the colour drain from his face. ‘What... what did he say?’

‘Nothing specific,’ John said. ‘He just kept saying you and Mycroft were shacking up somewhere.’

Lestrade groaned. ‘Great, just bloody fantastic...’ If Sherlock could see his infatuation, who else would?

And then there was Mycroft. Oh God, _Mycroft_. Didn’t Sherlock himself say that his brother was smarter and better at deductions then him?

Which meant Mycroft knew, he had to know. Dear God, Lestrade just wanted to die.

John’s eyes went wide. ‘So you... you and...?’

‘No,’ Lestrade said quickly, ‘we’re not together. We’re not.’

John nodded slowly. ‘Right,’ he said and looked at Lestrade carefully. ‘But you want to be?’

Lestrade sighed before nodding.

John laughed. ‘We’re idiots,’ he said.

‘How so?’

‘Falling for brilliant men who won’t look twice.’

The DI shook his head. ‘John, we’re both idiots, yes. But Sherlock wants you.’

‘What?’ the doctor squeaked.

Lestrade rolled his eyes. ‘It’s obvious he fancies you. So just go home and... I dunno, get naked and shag each other. Do what I can’t do.’ He looked at the road, at the spot where Mycroft’s car had briefly been parked.

‘Yeah,’ John said, thinking about Sherlock naked. He felt his face go red.

‘Go on,’ Lestrade said and lit another cigarette.

John grinned and turned. Before leaving he looked at Lestrade.

‘What?’ the DI asked.

‘Well, it might just be my imagination,’ John said, ‘but Sherlock made it sound like he had something over his brother.’

‘What?’ Lestrade said, confused.

‘When he was talking about you two, he made it seem like he was making fun of Mycroft, not you,’ John said. ‘And before, he was teasing Mycroft again, especially when he called you a friend.’ John paused before shrugging. ‘Just seems that if Sherlock knew how you felt, he’d be teasing you, not Mycroft.’

And with that he was gone, disappearing into the throngs of people that lined London’s streets.

Lestrade stared after him, his cigarette all but forgotten as he thought about John Watson’s words.


	7. Finally!

The more Lestrade thought about what John had said, the faster his heart beat. If Sherlock knew how Lestrade felt he would have made fun of him endlessly. But he hadn’t. He’d made fun of Mycroft. Which meant...

‘Mycroft likes me,’ Lestrade breathed. He was sitting in his office, tapping at his desk with bandaged fingers. He winced.

Was a hunch enough to go on? If Lestrade made a move and Mycroft didn’t feel the same way...

No, he had to do _something._ Lestrade was sick of thinking about the politician, sick of dreaming about him and waking up with an erection. He had to know now. If Mycroft didn’t like Lestrade then fine... the DI could move on.

So he flipped his phone open and began typing.

  
  


_Could you come to my office?_

_Lestrade_

  
  


A few seconds later his phone beeped with a message.

  
  


_Of course. Anything the matter?_

_MH_

  
  


_No, I just wanted to discuss something. When can you be here?_

_Lestrade_

  
  


_I have a meeting but I can meet with you during your lunch break. 12._

_MH_

  
  


_Okay, I’ll see you then._

_Lestrade_

  
  


Lestrade took a deep breath and dropped his phone. Okay, 12. 12 was good. He glanced at his watch. He had three hours... three long hours.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Mycroft Holmes leaned back at his desk. He did have a meeting but suddenly wished he had a clear schedule. Anything to meet with the DI again.

Mycroft sighed and rubbed his eyes.

‘Sir?’ Anthea asked, typing away on her Blackberry.

‘I’m fine,’ Mycroft said. ‘Just making lunch plans.’

‘With DI Lestrade, sir?’ Anthea asked. Mycroft looked at her. She squirmed slightly before saying, ‘It’s just... you smile every time you talk to him, sir.’

Mycroft thought about that. Did he smile every time he talked to Lestrade? Yes, that was true... he sighed again. These feelings were killing him.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Mycroft arrived promptly at noon and proceeded to Lestrade’s office. He knocked when he reached it and the, ‘Come in,’ from Lestrade sent his stomach flipping. Nobody had ever had this affect on Mycroft and he found it both irritating and amazing.

Mycroft stepped into the office and his eyes immediately found Lestrade who was sitting behind his desk. Both men smiled and Mycroft closed the door behind him.

‘Lestrade, how may I help you today?’

Lestrade stood but Mycroft waved a hand and walked across the office. He sat down gracefully and Lestrade stared at him. Everything the man did was graceful, precise, powerful.

And God, how Lestrade loved him.

Clearing his throat, Lestrade said, ‘There’s something I... want to discuss with you.’

Mycroft raised an eyebrow but was otherwise silent.

‘It doesn’t have anything to do with Sherlock... at least not directly.’

He paused and Mycroft flicked imaginary dust from his sleeve. ‘I’m afraid I don’t follow you, Inspector.’

Lestrade stood suddenly and rounded the table. He sat on the edge, close to Mycroft, and noticed how the other man’s eyes ran up his thighs, his torso, before settling on his face.

‘John said something to me earlier, something that’s made me re-evaluate some thoughts I’d been having lately.’

Mycroft, ever the polite gentlemen, just waited quietly.

‘John mentioned that Sherlock has been talking... about us.’

At this Mycroft stiffened and Lestrade watched him carefully. After a minute the politician cleared his throat and said a mildly polite, ‘Oh?’

‘Yeah,’ Lestrade said.

‘And what, pray tell, has my brother been saying?’

Lestrade could sense the anger, buried under the many, many layers that Mycroft had. He said, ‘Sherlock’s been making comments about us... saying that we’re shacking up.’

That hadn’t been in any of the reports Mycroft had read from Sherlock’s surveillance teams. Mycroft wondered when exactly he’d said these things.

‘Mycroft?’

The elder Holmes realised he’d been lost in thought and looked at Lestrade. ‘He’s been saying that, has he?’ Lestrade nodded and Mycroft said, ‘Right, well I’ll make sure Sherlock knows to keep his opinions to himself.’

He made to stand but Lestrade said, ‘Wait, that’s not all.’

Mycroft sat back down and looked up at him.

‘What he’s been saying...’ Lestrade said carefully, ‘... could never happen, right?’

Lestrade wanted Mycroft to say wrong, to say that he very much wanted to have a relationship. He wanted so badly to be with the man.

Mycroft looked at Lestrade carefully, trying to read what he was thinking. But the man was blank.

As much as Mycroft hated the lie, he said, ‘No, of course not.’

Lestrade felt a twinge in his stomach. So the younger man didn’t want him. Fine, that was fine. Even though it was his office, Lestrade would just go. He wasn’t going to stay in the same room with a man who didn’t want him.

‘Excuse me,’ Lestrade said in what he hoped was a tone of indifference. But there was a slight catch in the back of his throat and he swallowed.

He stood but Mycroft, who had heard the quiver in his voice, held out a hand.

‘Mr Holmes–’

‘I’ve tried so hard to forget about you, Greg,’ Mycroft said.

His words, his tone, stopped Lestrade dead in his tracks. First of all, Mycroft had called him Greg, _Greg_. And second, he had spoken in such a desperate manner... Lestrade wasn’t used to seeing, or hearing, emotions from Mycroft Holmes.

‘What?’ was all he could say.

Mycroft stood and turned to look at him and Lestrade could see everything in his blue eyes; the need, the want, the lust... and the love.

Mycroft stepped closer and Lestrade was suddenly aware of Mycroft’s cologne, and his general smell. It was intoxicating, making Lestrade weak in the knees. It was all he could do to remain standing.

‘I’ve tried so very, very hard,’ Mycroft murmured, stepping even closer. Now Lestrade could feel the other man’s body heat and God, even _that_ turned him on.

‘My-Mycroft,’ Lestrade mumbled, aware that his office door wasn’t locked.

‘Mm?’

‘People,’ the DI said, ‘out there...’

‘Mm?’ Mycroft questioned again, leaning down to run his lips along Lestrade’s neck. The inspector groaned and shivered as Mycroft placed his hands on his arms.

‘Is it okay if I kiss you?’ Mycroft asked, bringing his eyes up to Lestrade’s.

Lestrade had never heard anything as hot as that in his life.

‘Oh God, yes!’

Mycroft pressed his lips against Lestrade’s and the police inspector stepped into him. They pressed their bodies against each other, heat quickly flushing both their faces. The kiss became more heated as Mycroft spread Lestrade’s lips and darted his tongue along the DI’s bottom lip.

Lestrade groaned again and Mycroft smiled. Finally he pulled back and Lestrade sighed in annoyance.

‘Sorry, I couldn’t help myself,’ Mycroft said.

‘That...’ Lestrade cleared his throat. ‘That was... very, er, good.’

Mycroft raised a well-groomed eyebrow.

‘I mean, it was great,’ Lestrade said hurriedly. ‘Brilliant... ah, I dunno, it was just really...’ God, why did all Holmes’ have the ability to reduce Lestrade to a puddle of goo? He really wasn’t stupid... really.

‘Good?’ Mycroft supplied and Lestrade nodded. He chuckled. ‘Yes, I thought so too.’

‘I thought...’ Lestrade started but stopped.

‘Yes?’

Lestrade sighed and ran a hand through his grey hair. ‘I thought you didn’t want a relationship.’

‘That is not true,’ Mycroft said. ‘I am very much attracted to you, Gregory, on a physical and emotional level. But I thought it... unwise, to get involved, seeing as how you were helping my brother. If he knew how I felt about you... well, I was worried he’d push you away. And you were, _are_ , so very good for him.’

Lestrade listened carefully and nodded along. He could see Mycroft’s reasoning; the man, after all, was very protective of Sherlock and anything that could harm him would be dealt with... even if that meant Mycroft pushing away someone he cared about.

‘So what’s changed?’ Lestrade asked. ‘Last I checked, Sherlock was still a smug bastard with serious issues.’

Mycroft chuckled slightly and ran his fingers up Lestrade’s arm. The detective shivered again.

‘Well, he has that nice soldier fellow now,’ Mycroft said, ‘the army doctor.’

‘Yeah, him,’ Lestrade muttered, forgetting John Watson’s name as Mycroft trailed a finger along his chest.

‘Sherlock is in capable hands, Detective Inspector,’ Mycroft murmured. ‘But now I want to put _you_ in capable hands. Besides, he already knows, and he doesn’t care.’

‘Really?’ Lestrade said, eyeing Mycroft’s hands where they sat on his chest. How could this man, this brilliant, _infuriating_ man, make him so... weak? It was as though everything Mycroft Holmes said or did turned him on.

Lestrade wasn’t aware of the effect he was having on Mycroft. Despite the cool expression he was sporting, Mycroft was very much aware of the quick beating of his own heart, and the fact that he was slightly dizzy from the intoxicating aroma that was DI Lestrade. It was taking all his willpower, and he had a lot, to not throw the inspector on his desk and ravish him. But there were police officers outside, and his brother was running about loose somewhere...

‘I’ve tried to stay away, Gregory,’ Mycroft said, his lips millimetres from Lestrade’s own. Each inhaled the others breath and felt blood pool in their extremities. ‘But I can’t any longer.’

Lestrade leaned forward and kissed Mycroft again, tasting his lips with his tongue. Mycroft tilted his head and Lestrade followed suit, their lips locking together furiously. Suddenly Mycroft pulled back again and Lestrade frowned.

‘What?’

Mycroft was breathing heavily and Lestrade smiled.

‘I... I’m sorry,’ Mycroft said suddenly and Lestrade raised his eyebrows.

‘What for?’

‘I didn’t even ask...’ Mycroft began and shook his head. ‘If you don’t feel the same, or if you’re seeing someone–’

Lestrade couldn’t believe what he was hearing. For someone so smart, Mycroft could be incredibly thick.

Lestrade grabbed Mycroft’s designer tie and pulled him close, forcing the other man to yelp. Lestrade grinned and Mycroft blushed at his small show of surprise.

‘Shut up and kiss me, Mycroft,’ Lestrade growled.

Mycroft grinned, his face lighting up, and Lestrade found him even more attractive. Their lips locked again and Lestrade groaned as Mycroft pushed him back. Lestrade bumped into his desk and sat down heavily, Mycroft leaning into him. He used one knee to spread Lestrade’s legs and they both grinned when Mycroft felt Lestrade’s erection press against him.

‘My, my, aren’t we _excited_?’ Mycroft murmured. Lestrade reached out and grabbed Mycroft, who gasped and said, ‘Uncalled for, Inspector.’

‘That’s _Detective_ Inspector,’ Lestrade said and drove his tongue deep into Mycroft’s mouth. The younger man groaned and ground his hips into Lestrade.

In their passion both had forgotten that Lestrade’s door was unlocked. They all received a shock when DI Dimmock stepped in after knocking. His eyes went wide as Mycroft untangled himself from Lestrade and stepped back.

‘I, uh, um...’ Dimmock mumbled, unsure what to say.

Lestrade was suddenly aware that some of his shirt buttons had become loose and set about buttoning himself back up as Mycroft turned his back on Dimmock, breathing heavily. Lestrade was also aware of his throbbing hard on and quickly walked around his desk, falling back into his office chair.

‘Ah, can I help you?’ Lestrade asked in what he hoped was a normal voice, not a get-out-so-I-can-be-ravished-on-my-desk voice.

‘Um, yeah, er... Sherlock Holmes is downstairs, says he’s looking for his brother,’ Dimmock said. ‘I told him to leave but he shouted something about his brother and you... well...’ he trailed off, looking at Mycroft.

Lestrade glanced at Mycroft, who had composed himself and was now smiling at Dimmock. ‘I’ll deal with him,’ he said. He looked at Lestrade. ‘DI Lestrade, I’ll contact you regarding our... liaison.’ He smiled and swept from the office quickly, leaving Lestrade and Dimmock alone.

Lestrade sighed. ‘Great,’ he muttered, ‘just great. Another one for the gossipers.’

Dimmock was silent as Lestrade leaned forward on his desk and rubbed his eyes. His face was still flushed, his heart beating erratically, and all he wanted was to grab Mycroft Holmes and fuck him.

‘So, er, him,’ Dimmock said. ‘I’m assuming that’s Holmes’ brother.’

Lestrade didn’t say anything.

‘You know, Greg, there’s a bet going ’round that you’re getting off with Sherlock Holmes,’ Dimmock said.

‘What?’

The other DI smiled. ‘Should I tell everyone it’s the other Holmes you’re interested in?’

Lestrade groaned. ‘Shut up, Michael.’


	8. Dinner?

Sherlock Holmes glared as his brother appeared.

‘You!’

Mycroft smiled politely. ‘Me what?’

‘You and that bloody cop, talking to John about things that aren’t your business!’

Mycroft was aware of the stares they were getting. His mind was still focused on Lestrade (God, could that man kiss!) so he wanted to end this quickly and make plans to see the good inspector soon. He grabbed Sherlock by the elbow and steered him outside.

‘Sherlock, what is the problem?’ Mycroft asked once they were outside.

‘John came home after talking to you and Lestrade,’ Sherlock explained (much to Mycroft’s amazement, because usually Sherlock went on and on for twenty minutes without actually telling you what you wanted to know). ‘He started saying things, about us, about what he wanted and...’

Mycroft realised quickly what had happened. Lestrade had pointed out to John that he and Sherlock very much wanted to jump each other (something everybody other then the two involved had realised long ago) and John had then told Sherlock, who was currently freaking out because he didn’t do well with people.

‘Sherlock, you like John, I know you do,’ Mycroft said. ‘Don’t throw away a chance at happiness because you’re worried. John already knows you’re insane but despite that he still wants to be with you.’

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. ‘I take it you and Lestrade have... acted upon your feelings?’

Mycroft looked back at the building. ‘Yes,’ he said and couldn’t help but smile. ‘We have.’

Sherlock nodded slightly but didn’t say anything.

‘I was able to move past my insecurities, Sherlock,’ Mycroft said. ‘Are you?’

Sherlock knew his brother was baiting him but he still frowned. ‘I’m not insecure!’

Mycroft chuckled.

‘Fine,’ Sherlock spat. ‘I’ll show you!’

He stormed away and Mycroft smiled.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Mycroft climbed into his car and Anthea said, ‘Three calls while you were in there, sir.’

‘I’ll call back in a minute,’ Mycroft said and pulled out his mobile phone. He scrolled through the extremely long phone book and found the number he was looking for.

Lestrade answered after two rings. ‘ _Hello?_ ’

‘It’s nice to hear your voice,’ Mycroft said.

Lestrade chuckled. ‘ _You just heard it._ ’

‘It’s still nice,’ Mycroft said.

‘ _So... what can I do for you?_ ’

Mycroft paused.

‘ _Mycroft?_ ’

‘Yes, sorry,’ Mycroft said. ‘I was wondering if you... if you were busy tonight?’

‘ _No, I’m free_ ,’ Lestrade said, finding it difficult to keep the excitement out of his voice. ‘ _Why?_ ’

‘I was hoping you could join me for dinner tonight,’ Mycroft said. Across from him, Anthea grinned but kept her eyes fixed on her phone.

‘ _That sounds lovely,_ ’ Lestrade said.

‘Excellent,’ Mycroft grinned. ‘I’ll pick you up at seven.’

‘ _I’m looking forward to it_ ,’ Lestrade said.

Mycroft said goodbye and hung up. Across from him, Anthea glanced up from her phone.

‘Yes?’ Mycroft asked.

‘Just... I’m glad you finally told him, sir. Honestly, it was sending me insane watching you two together. Just... congratulations, sir.’

Mycroft smiled. ‘Thank you, Anthea.’

And he spent the rest of the day thinking about Lestrade, who in turn spent the rest of his day thinking about Mycroft.

And both smiled all day.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Across London, at Baker Street, a bed was slamming against the wall.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


  
  


Lestrade had a quick shower when he got home and puffed on a cigarette nervously. He’d quit months ago... bloody hell, he was always quitting, but it wasn’t going well. He was worried Mycroft would hate the smell but then remembered the man smoked himself.

After lighting another cigarette, his watch ticked over to seven and there was a sharp knock on the door. Lestrade opened it and found Mycroft Holmes, dressed impeccably as always.

‘Hey there,’ Lestrade said and grinned.

Mycroft smiled back. ‘Hello.’

Lestrade let Mycroft in. He puffed in his cigarette and Mycroft looked at it. ‘Sorry,’ Lestrade mumbled.

Mycroft stepped forward and plucked the cigarette from Lestrade’s fingers. He took a quick drag, blew out the smoke, and kissed Lestrade. He’d meant it as a small, light kiss but it quickly turned into something fierce. When they broke apart both men were breathing heavily.

Mycroft raised the cigarette to his lips and took a long drag. Lestrade took it back and copied the gesture.

‘I quit a long time ago,’ Mycroft murmured, and trailed his fingers along Lestrade’s collared shirt. ‘But it seems I’m not very good at quitting.’

‘Me either,’ Lestrade said and gulped, a tingling sensation spreading through his chest. Mycroft looked up at him and kissed him again, long and slow.

They broke apart again and Lestrade said, ‘We’ll never make it to dinner at this rate.’

‘I know,’ Mycroft said. ‘But I’ve waited so long to do this.’ He kissed him again.

‘We’re both idiots for waiting so long,’ Lestrade said in-between kisses. ‘But that just means we have to make up for lost time.’

Lestrade put out the cigarette and pushed Mycroft across to the wall. He pushed the taller man against it and kissed him fiercely, making Mycroft moan. And Mycroft Holmes was not a man used to making such noises.

It made Lestrade grin stupidly.

‘What?’ Mycroft asked.

He shook his head.

Mycroft clasped Lestrade around the chin and pulled his face up gently. ‘Please tell me.’

‘I’m just glad,’ Lestrade said, ‘that I’m the one who gets to hear those noises.’

Mycroft grinned. ‘You’re the one responsible for me making those noises, love.’

Lestrade blinked at Mycroft’s term. It somehow felt... right. They hadn’t even gone on one date yet but this whole thing... Lestrade had never felt like this in his entire life.

He smiled and said, ‘Dinner?’

Mycroft pulled himself off the wall and gave Lestrade a quick peck. ‘Please.’


	9. Together But Not Together

The restaurant was fancy, but not too fancy. Mycroft seemed to know that Lestrade didn’t like big, over-the-top poshness. And while Mycroft spent most late-night business meetings dining in restaurants where the meals could cost a small fortune, he felt completely at ease in this small place with Gregory Lestrade.

They were seated at the best table and a waitress hurried over. She took their drink order and Lestrade hesitated, looking over the wine list. Mycroft was aware of Lestrade’s alcoholism but the man had been sober for almost a year. Mycroft hoped he didn’t slide back like he did with cigarettes. But he’d be there to help if that were the case.

Lestrade closed the drinks menu and said, ‘Just water, please, with ice.’

The waitress nodded and turned to Mycroft.

‘Same for me, thank you,’ he said and handed over his menu.

‘Mycroft, no,’ Lestrade said. ‘If you want to drink you can.’

Mycroft leaned forward and clasped one of Lestrade’s hands with his own. He ran his index finger over the man’s calluses. ‘Gregory, I do not need to drink to enjoy my dinner. All I need is good company.’ He smiled and leaned forward to kiss Lestrade’s hand. ‘And from where I’m sitting, you are the best company I could possibly hope for.’

Lestrade’s heart fluttered and he leaned forward. His lips found Mycroft’s and they kissed again, both feeling their hearts beat quickly. Lestrade rested his hands on the table and Mycroft leaned into him, moving to hold his face.

Someone cleared their throat and the two men broke apart, faces flushed. The waitress smiled and said, ‘Sorry, sirs, but would you like to order dinner now?’

Mycroft smiled and said, ‘Yes. Before that, though, is there any chance we could move to a smaller table?’

He winked at Lestrade, who giggled.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Lestrade had never had so much fun. Mycroft was the perfect amount of wit, charm, and sex appeal. He could have Lestrade laughing, crying, or just thinking. The way he looked at Lestrade, the way his fingers touched him, it was enough to send Lestrade over the edge.

Lestrade wasn’t without his appeal. Mycroft found himself completely captivated by everything the DI had to say. Whether it was about work, football, or his sisters ( _Sydney and Isabelle, I remember those from a file_ ), Mycroft just couldn’t stop looking and listening. Every time Lestrade shifted and knocked Mycroft’s knee under the table, Mycroft felt himself harden. Every time Lestrade ran a hand through his hair (which he did often, Mycroft noted), Mycroft himself wanted to lean forward and do it.

They didn’t leave the restaurant until closing and both were giddy with joy. Lestrade had a bag of cheesecake in one hand and he tucked into under an arm as he pushed Mycroft against the wall of a shop. There were only a few people walking the streets so Mycroft didn’t mind.

Lestrade kissed him carefully, softly, like it was their first time, and pressed his crotch against Mycroft’s. He was met with a satisfying bump and Mycroft pushing back against him.

‘We... shouldn’t be doing this,’ Mycroft gasped, ‘in public.’

Lestrade agreed but couldn’t help himself. The man was so bloody attractive. Finally Mycroft got control and pushed Lestrade back. But he continued holding the other man’s hand, even when they climbed into Mycroft’s car.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Mycroft walked Lestrade to his front door. It all felt like Lestrade was the woman; he got picked up, taken out, paid for, and walked to his door. Lestrade didn’t mind, though. While he wasn’t poor he certainly didn’t have very much money. Mycroft was, well, loaded. The whole thing felt right; Mycroft leading, Lestrade following. Except in the bedroom... Lestrade knew he’d lead in the bedroom... maybe.

‘I guess this is goodnight,’ Mycroft said. Lestrade pressed himself against Mycroft and pushed him back to the opposite wall. Mycroft smiled and said, ‘Why do I always end up like this?’

Lestrade kissed him and murmured, ‘It doesn’t have to end. The night, I mean.’

Mycroft continued kissing him for a minute before sighing and pulling away.

‘What?’ Lestrade asked.

‘I don’t want to move too fast,’ the other man admitted.

Lestrade snorted. ‘We’ve waited five years, Mycroft.’

‘While that is true,’ Mycroft said and laced his fingers with Lestrade’s, ‘I want this to be proper relationship, Gregory. I don’t...’

‘What?’ Lestrade asked.

Mycroft sighed. He really didn’t want to share this with Lestrade.

‘You can tell me,’ Lestrade insisted.

A pleading look had Mycroft telling the truth.

‘I’ve never had a proper relationship, or even a first real date. For me it’s always been one night things, just a quick shag and then I disappear. I don’t...’ he paused and looked at Lestrade carefully. ‘I want this to be real, Greg. I don’t want to screw it up.’

Lestrade smiled and leaned against Mycroft so the taller man could wrap his arms around him. ‘That’s not going to happen, Mycroft. I’m not going anywhere. And we can take it as slow as you want.’

Mycroft smiled and kissed his hair. ‘Thank you.’

Lestrade leaned back and looked up at him. ‘But if I have to wait another five years for you to fuck me, I’m going to kill you.’

Mycroft chuckled and kissed him again. ‘I promise that won’t happen, Gregory.’

Smiling, Lestrade walked back to his flat and opened the door. He turned and kissed Mycroft again, a hot, passionate one that had the younger man gasping for air. Lestrade pulled back and smirked.

‘You’d be getting more if you stayed,’ he said. He gave Mycroft a quick peck and said, ‘Good night, Mycroft.’

Mycroft smiled. ‘Good night, Gregory.’

Lestrade shut the door.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


He leaned against the door, breathing heavily. That had been the best first date of his life. Mycroft was... he was annoying, and sometimes rude, and had far too much power... but Greg loved him.

Greg sighed and looked down at his pants. He could see the bulge his erection was making and if Mycroft wasn’t going to help in person...

Greg locked the front door and undressed on his way to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth, skipped the shower, and climbed into bed wearing only boxers and a white singlet. He prodded at his erection with his good hand and felt it stiffen more.

Reaching in, Greg flopped himself out and began stroking carefully, thinking about Mycroft, about his laugh and smell and the way he felt beneath that suit.

‘Oh, fuck,’ Greg groaned and reached over to his draw. He’d bought lube and condoms (fat lot of the good the latter was going to do) earlier but now he was alone, he only needed the lube.

He lathered his hand and went back to stroking himself, thinking about that handsome politician the entire time. He imagined it was Mycroft’s hand, or better yet, Mycroft’s mouth. That thought alone had Lestrade tensing beneath the sheets and he came with a small gasp.

Greg laid there for a few minutes, collecting himself. He took a deep breath and reached for the tissues. After cleaning himself up and making sure his sheets were clean, Greg rolled over and closed his eyes.

Smiling, his dreams all revolved around Mycroft Holmes.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Out in the corridor, after Greg shut the door, Mycroft just stood there. He could feel Greg on him, could still taste and smell him... it was sustaining the erection Mycroft had had since Greg had pushed him against the wall... the last time.

He poked it and felt it quiver but now was not the time to take care of it. Mycroft tried to think un-sexy thoughts (and failed spectacularly) as he made his way back down to the car. Saying no to Greg Lestrade seemed like the biggest mistake he had ever made.

He got home and undressed slowly, not bothering to take a shower. As he sat on his bed he looked down and realised he was still hard. How was that possible?

Mycroft picked up his shirt and sniffed it. He could smell Greg’s cologne. It sent a shiver of lust through Mycroft and he suddenly found himself doing something he hadn’t done in a good few months.

He wanked while thinking of another man.

It was Greg doing it, not him... at least that was what Mycroft told himself. He imagined Greg, his smile, his eyes, that sexy silver hair. He groaned a little and increased his strokes, sniffing at his own shirt again. Greg, it all smelt like Greg.

Mycroft came suddenly, something else he hadn’t done in a while. He gasped and sat panting, staring at his now limp cock.

He cleaned himself up quickly and fell back, pulling the covers over him. As he drifted to sleep, he realised the last time he had come was very similar... he’d been thinking about Greg Lestrade then, too.


	10. Happy Days

Greg Lestrade was in a good mood the next day. True, he hadn’t got sex (something he hadn’t had in a very, very long time), but he’d had the best first date of his life and taken care of himself thinking about said date. All in all, nothing could ruin his mood, not even a scowling Sherlock Holmes.

‘Oh dear God, you did it, didn’t you?’

Greg didn’t know why Sherlock seemed to dislike his brother so much. He could tell Sherlock cared; if Mycroft were injured, Sherlock would be there. But other than that this childish feud seemed like it would never end.

‘What did I do?’ Greg asked, puffing on his cigarette. As usual Sherlock nicked one of his.

‘You slept with him,’ Sherlock said. ‘How much is he paying you?’

‘How much is John paying you?’ Greg countered.

Sherlock’s eyes snapped to him and Greg waited for an insult.

‘Well played, Gregory,’ Sherlock said.

Greg raised his eyebrows and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

‘Don’t look so surprised.’

‘You just complimented me,’ Greg said. ‘You said something nice.’

‘I did not,’ Sherlock scowled. ‘I said well played, that is all.’

‘But from you, that’s a standing ovation!’ Greg said and Sherlock’s scowl deepened. ‘I didn’t know you cared so much, Sherlock.’

Despite the fact that Greg was teasing him, Sherlock made no attempt to move. Greg was beginning to know Sherlock a little better. He’d known him for over five years, true, but his relationship with John was opening him up, giving Greg a chance to study the consulting detective a little more. The man thrived on insults and when Greg stood up to him, matched him, Sherlock respected that.

‘How are you and John?’ Greg asked. ‘You looked a little wobbly when you walked over.’

Sherlock’s eyes lit up a bit but he tried to keep the scowl in place. It wasn’t working; Greg saw right through him.

‘We’re... good,’ Sherlock said. ‘Not easy, far from easy, but... good.’

‘You love him?’ Greg asked.

Sherlock looked him in the eye. ‘I do.’

Greg smiled. ‘Good.’

‘Do you love Mycroft?’ Sherlock asked.

Greg looked at him. ‘I do, very much.’

‘Good,’ Sherlock said and took another cigarette. ‘Just so you know, Lestrade, if you hurt my brother I’ll kill you.’

Greg looked at him carefully. The sociopath was dead serious.

‘Right, okay,’ Greg said and puffed on his cigarette nervously. Sherlock grinned at him but if anything that just made Greg more nervous.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Greg whistled as he walked to his office, drawing the glances of a few people. It was young DI Dimmock that followed him, shutting Greg’s door behind him.

‘What’s got you so chipper?’ he asked.

As he had begun to quit drinking, it was Dimmock Greg found himself talking to when the group went for drinks. Dimmock wasn’t much of a drinker and could barely get through one beer in eight hours. He and Lestrade had had long talks at the bar while Anderson, Sally and sometimes John got sloshed. Sherlock would never admit it, but Dimmock was quite intelligent and could hold his own in most conversations with the consulting detective. That just made Lestrade like him even more.

‘Had a good date,’ Greg admitted and sat behind his desk. Dimmock raised an eyebrow but Greg shook his head, ‘No, not that good.’

‘Oh, too bad,’ Dimmock said. ‘How long’s it been?’

Lestrade ran a hand through his hair. ‘A while.’ Dimmock raised another eyebrow and waited patiently. He was good at that, waiting. He’d sit in the interrogation room and just stare at the suspect, asking small questions. Eventually his gaze would make them crack.

‘A year,’ Greg finally admitted. ‘There was that one time with Danielle from forensics, and then that guy I met at the pub. No one since them.’

‘Jesus, go get yourself laid,’ Dimmock commented and went back to the door. ‘So, who was the lucky person?’

‘Mycroft Holmes,’ Lestrade said.

Dimmock gaped at him. ‘Are you serious? I mean, I saw you two kissing but... you’re _dating_ him?’

‘He’s nothing like Sherlock,’ Greg said. ‘Honestly. Well... he’s a little like Sherlock, but they’re not the same.’

Dimmock nodded. ‘If you say so.’ He cleared his throat before continuing. ‘Anyway, just go home tonight and shag Holmes, alright? It might make you less of an arsehole.’

‘Piss off!’ Greg shouted but Dimmock was already ducking out the door, laughing.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


The thought of a good shag preoccupied Greg’s mind for most of the day. Again he found himself stuck behind his desk and after his third cup of coffee he slid out his mobile.

  
  


_Any chance of dinner tonight? Or a brief visit? Anything? By the way, I had fun last night._

_Greg_

  
  


Lestrade placed his phone back on the desk and went back to filling in reports. A second later his phone chimed.

  
  


_Gregory, wonderful to hear from you. I do prefer a phone call, but sometimes texts cannot be helped._

_MH_

  
  


_Too short. Where’s the gestures of love?_

_Greg_

  
  


Mycroft replied quickly.

  
  


_I had fun too and tonight would be lovely. How about that nice café on the corner? I know how much you love their chilli chicken. Shall we say five? I know you don’t have any new cases and I believe you won’t receive a new one until tomorrow. Oh, and by the way, I thought about you last night. And let’s just say that I regret saying we should wait._

_MH_

  
  


Greg’s cock twitched and he groaned. No, please no. Now Mycroft had the ability to make him hot through a text. He grumbled at himself and replied.

  
  


_You bastard, now I’m hard. Damn you._

_Greg_

  
  


_My poor love._

_MH_

  
  


Greg stared at his phone, wondering what he should say back. Finally he settled by saying five sounded good and placed his phone back on the table.

It chimed twenty minutes later and Greg smiled when he saw Mycroft’s name.

  
  


_Knock, knock._

_MH_

  
  


Greg frowned, and then jumped when there was a knock on his office door. ‘Come in,’ he said.

The door opened swiftly and Mycroft Holmes entered. He smiled and closed to door behind him.

‘Good afternoon, Detective Inspector Lestrade, I trust you’ve had a good day,’ Mycroft said.

Greg smiled. ‘I’m just fine, thank you, Mr Holmes. A little stiff, though.’

Mycroft chuckled. ‘Yes, so I’ve heard.’ He flicked the lock on the office door and smiled. ‘I think I can take care of that.’

Greg felt blood rise to his face. He cleared his throat but his voice still came out croaky. ‘Is that... is that so?’

Mycroft crossed the room and hung his umbrella from the chair in front of Greg’s desk. He then grabbed the back of Greg’s chair and spun the DI to face him.

‘Can I help you?’ Greg asked, raising his eyebrows.

Mycroft smiled. ‘No,’ he said, ‘but I can help you.’

He leaned forward and kissed Greg. It was soft, quiet, and nice. Greg kissed back and licked Mycroft’s bottom lip, making the man moan. Greg felt in control until fingers began unbuckling his belt.

‘What are you doing?’ Greg asked against Mycroft’s lips.

The politician continued to kiss Greg as he pulled the belt free and unzipped his fly.

‘I heard you had an issue, that you were stiff,’ Mycroft said and rubbed Greg’s erection through his boxer shorts, making Greg gasp. ‘I think I can help you.’

‘There are–’ Greg gasped as Mycroft fingered his pulsing prick, ‘–there are p-people out-outside.’

‘I’m aware of that,’ Mycroft breathed and ran his tongue along Greg’s jaw line. ‘But I made it clear we were not to be disturbed for the next twenty minutes.’

‘Twenty minutes?’ Greg said. ‘I don’t think I’ll hold out another two.’

Mycroft kissed him and licked at his teeth, his tongue, his cheeks. Greg moaned and bucked into Mycroft’s hand.

‘Patience, love,’ Mycroft smiled.

‘Fuck that,’ Greg groaned and grabbed Mycroft’s tie, pulling closer. Mycroft nearly lost his balance and placed both hands in Lestrade’s lap to steady himself. It turned both men on and Mycroft felt his own cock going stiff.

‘Fuck it,’ the taller man gasped and pulled Greg’s cock from his boxers.

‘First time I’ve ever heard you swear,’ Greg grinned as Mycroft knelt down. ‘I like it.’

All words stopped when Mycroft wrapped his lips around Greg’s shaft, sucking slowly as he fondled his balls. Lestrade gasped and leaned back, groaning. He’d imagined this, had dreamed it, but nothing was as good as the real thing.

He could barely keep his eyes open as Mycroft sucked him, gripping the base of his cock with one hand. He licked the tip and Greg groaned.

‘I fear your cock has gone far too long without a loving hand,’ Mycroft said, breathing over Lestrade. ‘And your own doesn’t count, Gregory.’

‘You’re killing me,’ Greg moaned.

Mycroft lowered his head again and added teeth, grazing them along Greg’s shaft. He bucked into Mycroft’s throat, nearly choking him, but like all good politicians Mycroft was good with change and adjusted his sucking accordingly.

Greg was basically fucking Mycroft’s mouth but both seemed to be enjoying it. Greg groaned and moaned, stuffing a fist into his mouth to stop from being so loud.

‘Oh, G-God, Mycroft,’ he breathed heavily.

Mycroft grinned and slid a finger down to Greg’s opening, rubbing it softly.

It sent Greg over the edge and he came suddenly, filling Mycroft’s mouth. He sucked it all down and withdrew his mouth, letting Greg’s cock go limp. The DI was panting heavily as Mycroft dabbed at his mouth and then Greg’s prick with a silk handkerchief.

‘I believe that takes care of the stiffness you reported,’ Mycroft smirked. Greg was barely able to breathe. It took him a few minutes to tuck himself away and kiss Mycroft.

‘That... was... amazing.’

Mycroft grinned. ‘I’m glad you thought so.’

Suddenly Greg stood and pushed Mycroft back. The government official fell to sit on Greg’s desk.

‘What are you–?’ Mycroft began but was cut off when Lestrade pressed himself against him. Greg stuck his tongue down Mycroft’s throat and both groaned at the taste.

‘Pants off, now,’ Greg said.

Mycroft pulled back. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

‘Why not?’ Greg demanded.

‘I’m here for you, love, not myself,’ Mycroft said. ‘I can wait.’

‘I can’t,’ Greg said and bent down. Before Mycroft could protest, Greg withdrew the belt, pants and underwear so that they fell around Mycroft’s knees.

Greg took a second to marvel at a half naked Mycroft, his erect cock standing to attention. Greg grinned and said, ‘God, you’re beautiful.’

Mycroft rolled his eyes and said, ‘Please, I am ordinary at be– _ah_!’ The last sound came out in response to Greg pushing his mouth down over Mycroft’s cock.

Mycroft groaned and bucked slightly as Greg fell into a good rhythm.

‘Oh, Greg... God...’

Greg smirked around his cock and added teeth, grazing them along Mycroft’s shaft just like he’d done.

Mycroft gasped again and said, ‘Fuck... me...’

‘I wish,’ Lestrade said, removing his mouth.

‘Oh, believe me, after this I won’t be waiting any longer then tonight,’ Mycroft assured him.

Greg was satisfied to hear the desperation. It was amazing that he, Greg Lestrade, could make a powerful man like Mycroft Holmes sound like that.

‘Greg,’ Mycroft whimpered and Lestrade realised he’d neglected Mycroft’s prick. ‘Please...’ he said.

Greg obliged and once again sucked Mycroft off. The elder Holmes groaned and thrust slightly, pushing his cock deeper into Greg’s mouth.

‘Oh God, Greg,’ Mycroft moaned.

Greg stopped just long enough to hiss, ‘Keep it down!’

He went back to sucking Mycroft off and the elder Holmes found it difficult to keep his voice down. It had been years since anyone had done this, and Mycroft was worried he’d scream out in pleasure soon. Greg was very, very good with that mouth.

Greg felt Mycroft’s thighs tense beneath him and he sucked harder before poking at Mycroft’s arse, just like the man had done to him. Greg sucking him off was great and quickly bringing Mycroft to his climax. But that added with Greg trailing two fingers along his arse... well , just like Greg, it sent Mycroft over the edge.

‘Coming,’ the politician managed to gasp before he orgasmed, shooting his seed down Greg’s throat. Greg lapped up as much as he could before withdrawing his mouth. Mycroft weakly offered his silk handkerchief and Lestrade mopped them both up.


	11. A Very Good Night

Mycroft did his trousers up and sat heavily in Greg’s chair. Greg sat on his lap and rested his head on Mycroft’s shoulders.

‘That,’ Mycroft said once he had calmed down, ‘was incredible.’

‘Yes, I found it enjoyable too,’ Greg grinned. After a few seconds he said, ‘So... the waiting thing?’

‘Gregory, if I don’t get inside you before the day is out I’m going to combust.’

Greg chuckled. ‘Same here,’ he said. ‘What first?’ he asked. ‘Will I be a top or a bottom?’

‘Most definitely a bottom,’ Mycroft said. ‘I need to be inside you.’

‘As you wish, my dear,’ Greg grinned and kissed Mycroft.

They were aware of the office door opening and Greg cursed, pulling himself from Mycroft quickly. Thankfully it was just Sherlock and John.

‘I thought you locked the door,’ Greg said.

Mycroft shrugged. ‘Sherlock has the tendency to... pick locks.’

‘You taught me!’ Sherlock snapped before eyeing them both. ‘In your office, Lestrade?’ Sherlock scowled. ‘That’s not very professional.’

‘We didn’t do anything, brother,’ Mycroft said. The grins on both their faces were enough to show what they’d been doing. But it didn’t take a genius to look at the crumpled clothes, stained handkerchief, and undone belt to see that the two had been doing something dirty.

‘You’re a terrible liar, Mycroft,’ Sherlock said. He looked at Lestrade. ‘Button yourself up, Inspector, we have a murder.’

‘What?’ Lestrade said. ‘Why wasn’t I told?’

‘Sherlock wanted to tell you himself,’ John said, trying very hard not to laugh. His face was bright red. ‘Now I see why...’

‘You’re a disgusting man, Sherlock Holmes,’ Greg said as he re-did his belt and zipped himself up.

Sherlock just smiled. ‘Save the dirty talk for tonight. Although with this murder, you probably won’t be off work for at least two days.’ He smirked at his brother.

Greg sighed and eyed Mycroft, remembering his promise to be inside him by the end of the day.

‘I thought you said tomorrow.’

Mycroft sighed too. ‘When working with Sherlock Holmes, never expect an easy time,’ Mycroft said and smiled. ‘We’ll work something out.’ Despite there being two people in the room, and the door open, Mycroft stood and kissed Greg on the mouth. He smoothed down his clothes, grabbed his umbrella, and said, ‘I’ll most definitely be seeing you later, love.’

Greg nodded. ‘That’s a promise.’

John was grinning like an idiot as Mycroft Holmes left. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

‘Love,’ he snorted.

‘What do you call John?’ Greg asked.

Sherlock glared at him and John said, ‘Darling.’

‘Shut up!’ Sherlock snapped and John laughed. The consulting detective glared at them and stormed from the room.

‘I’m happy for you, Greg,’ John said.

‘Same here,’ Greg said. ‘Though I reckon mine’s more docile.’

‘True,’ John admitted, ‘but mine’s better looking.’

‘That is _so_ not true.’

‘It is and you know it.’

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Night came and with it more dead ends. Sherlock and John were out doing God knows what on the streets of London and Greg was stuck at the office. He finally pulled himself away from the murder board to go outside and have a cigarette.

Smoke filled his lungs and nicotine soared through his veins, making Greg sigh. _Just five minutes_ , he told himself. _Five minutes and I’ll go back up._ He glanced at his watch. 11:40pm.

Greg sighed and took a long drag of his cigarette.

The car was near silent and Greg didn’t notice it until he heard the door open. Surprisingly, Mycroft stepped from the driver’s door and hurried over to Greg.

‘Get in.’

‘Mycroft, I’m working,’ Greg said.

‘Get in now, please,’ Mycroft said.

He sounded desperate so Greg grounded out his cigarette. ‘What’s wrong?’

Mycroft grabbed Greg’s hand and pulled it to his crotch. Greg felt his pulsing erection and smiled.

‘I haven’t stopped thinking about you all day, Gregory,’ Mycroft admitted. ‘And if I don’t fuck you soon I’m afraid I’ll start World War III.’

It was hard to ignore a pleading man, especially one that turned Greg on like no tomorrow. He was working, yes, but Greg hadn’t had a shag in over a year. And here was Mycroft Holmes, offering himself on a silver platter. Well, offering himself in a very expensive and roomy car. What man would turn that down?

His cock now doing the thinking, Greg grabbed Mycroft and pulled him into the building.

‘Where are we going?’ Mycroft asked.

‘My office,’ Greg said. ‘If I’m in there no one will wonder where I’ve gone and I won’t get fired.’

Mycroft chuckled and allowed Greg to lead him.

They got all the way to Greg’s office without anybody noticing and Greg locked the door quickly. He then pushed himself against Mycroft, who backed up and fell into Greg’s office chair. Greg mounted his boyfriend.

_Boyfriend_ , Greg thought. Mycroft Holmes was his _boyfriend._ It made him deliriously happy.

‘I certainly am,’ Mycroft said and grabbed Greg for a deep, passionate kiss.

Greg didn’t ask how Mycroft knew (how did all Holmeses know?). Instead he situated himself more comfortably on Mycroft’s lap and ground his hips into Mycroft’s, licking at his mouth.

‘Oh, God,’ Mycroft groaned and shifted himself beneath Greg, running his hands through the man’s grey hair.

‘You’ve been saying that a lot lately,’ Greg breathed and pulled back to plant kisses along his boyfriend’s neck.

‘You have the ability to make a man believe in a higher power,’ Mycroft said, eyes closed and hands running up and under Greg’s shirt. ‘With a body like yours...’

‘I’m nothing special,’ Greg said.

‘Shut up!’ Mycroft snapped and Greg paused to look at him. ‘You are the sexiest, bravest, most interesting man I have ever met. And I will stay with you to the day I die.’ He paused before saying, softly, ‘I love you.’

Greg felt tears begin to burn behind his eyes. Mycroft looked at him, watching, waiting for his reply.

‘I love you too,’ Greg finally said and Mycroft grinned, the grin that Greg decided was his and his alone. ‘I fucking love you so much, Myc, it hurts.’

‘Myc?’ Mycroft breathed and kissed Greg’s jaw. ‘I like that.’

Greg smiled and went back to kissing Mycroft’s neck. The younger man groaned and thrust himself up.

Suddenly Greg’s jacket and shirt were being tugged off and Mycroft ran his hands along his body, exploring everything, committing every freckle, scar and curve to memory.

But Greg wanted to explore too and wasted no time pulling off Mycroft’s jacket, waistcoat, and shirt, only to find a singlet underneath.

‘You wear too much bloody clothing,’ Greg growled as he tugged it over Mycroft’s head.

Mycroft chuckled. ‘I’ll bear that in mind for future encounters.’

Greg finally threw the shirt away and looked down at his lover. Besides a very small belly that Greg knew was due to all the expensive food Mycroft ate (when he ate, because he’d come to realise that the Holmeses didn’t believe in eating and sleeping like regular people), the man was in good shape. Greg leaned down and ran his tongue along Mycroft’s chest, pausing to lick at his right nipple. Mycroft gasped and closed his eyes, his nails digging into Greg’s back.

Moving to the other nipple, Greg sucked and bit at it gently, causing Mycroft to buck beneath him. Greg caught sight of his watch.

11.45pm. Greg was giving himself until midnight, which meant he had to get his pants off.

Greg got up and stepped back, unbuckling himself, knowing that Mycroft was watching him with a smirk. Finally he got free and kicked his shoes off so he could slide his pants and boxers off. Now all he had on were socks and for the first time Mycroft saw him completely naked.

‘You’re beautiful,’ Mycroft murmured and ran his hands over Greg’s body.

‘Explore later,’ Greg huffed. ‘Get those pants off.’

It was Mycroft’s turn to strip and Greg grinned when he saw the final product.

‘I think you’re better,’ he said.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and sat back, allowing Greg to climb atop him. He ground himself against Mycroft, both their erections pressing against Mycroft’s stomach. They groaned in joy and anticipation.

Finally Greg could take no more and asked, ‘Do you, er, have a condom?’

Mycroft smirked. ‘I didn’t come unprepared, love.’ He leaned down and grabbed his jacket from the floor, rummaging through the pockets. He produced a small box of condoms and a bottle of lube.

Greg took them and Mycroft watched him pull out a condom. He ripped the foil with his teeth, producing a blue rubber.

‘Everything you do is sexy,’ Mycroft commented.

Greg smiled and shifted so he could roll the condom onto Mycroft’s cock. Once there, Greg uncapped the bottle and applied lube to his fingers. He threw the bottle over his shoulder and ran his fingers along Mycroft’s wrapped prick. When that was done, the two looked at each other.

‘Are you ready?’ Mycroft asked.

‘This isn’t the first time I’ve been with a man,’ Greg informed him. Mycroft blushed and looked down. Greg leaned forward and took his chin, bringing the man’s lips to meet his own. ‘But I know it’ll be so much better with you,’ Greg added.

He moved and grabbed Mycroft’s cock, positioning himself over it. The two locked eyes as Greg slid down.

_He’s so tight,_ was Mycroft’s first thought. And then, _Oh my God, I’m actually fucking Gregory Lestrade._

Greg’s thoughts were more along the line of, _Jesus Christ that feels good. Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my–_

All intelligent thought was wiped out as Mycroft grabbed Greg’s hips and pushed up. Greg began moving up and down, feeling Mycroft slide in and out of him. It was the most delicious, the most tantalising, the most fucking unbelievably good thing Greg had ever felt. Mycroft’s feelings echoed Greg’s as he grunted.

Neither said anything for a few minutes as they grew used to each other. Soon Greg was moaning loudly and Mycroft joined him, despite the fact there could be people outside. When you had a gorgeous man’s cock in you, you didn’t worry about people outside. When you had your cock in a beautiful man, you didn’t care who heard it.

Greg groaned louder and dug his nails into Mycroft’s shoulders. Mycroft leaned forward and sucked at his neck, not caring what marks he left. A swirl of bliss engulfed Greg and Mycroft and it doubled when Mycroft realised Greg’s cock was sliding up and down his stomach.

He moved his right arm and wrapped his long fingers around Greg’s shaft, making the older man gasp.

‘Come with me,’ Mycroft moaned and all Greg could do was nod.

They moved faster now, Mycroft stroking Greg in time with each thrust. Neither could believe that sex was this good. For Mycroft it had always been about satisfying his animal urges and Greg’s experiences hadn’t been far off that.

But this, this was real sex. Sex with someone you loved made it so much more pleasurable.

Both men were close to coming and Greg bit at Mycroft’s neck. The younger man moved his face so that he could kiss Greg and they locked lips as both climaxed.

Groaning into each other’s mouths, Greg’s seed spat all over Mycroft while Mycroft’s own was held in the condom. Both men felt waves of absolute joy wash over them as their muscles clamped down and twisted.

Greg fell against Mycroft, breathing heavily. A thin sheen of sweat coated his body and when he looked at Mycroft’s red face he could see the man was equally exhausted.

‘I have to go to work,’ Greg finally said ten minutes later, running his tongue along Mycroft’s jaw.

Mycroft just hummed pleasantly.

‘Myc, I’m sure you have work too.’

Mycroft chuckled and said, ‘You know me too well.’ He opened his eyes to look at Greg. ‘I wish I didn’t, I wish you didn’t. I really do love you, Greg.’

‘And I love you,’ Greg said, moving to kiss his boyfriend. ‘And there’ll be plenty more sex when we have the time.’

‘Absolutely,’ Mycroft agreed. ‘And we’ll go much, much slower, and maybe do it in a bed.’

‘I dunno,’ Greg said. ‘I kind of like this spontaneous thing. And I think my kitchen counter could handle it.’

Mycroft laughed again.

‘Do you realise that a lot of our “firsts” happened in this office?’

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and Greg continued.

‘Our first kiss, first blow job, and now first time having sex... and first time saying I love you.’

Mycroft kissed Greg deeply and longingly, knowing that both of them had to get back to work.

‘I love you,’ Mycroft repeated.

Greg smiled. ‘I love you.’

Mycroft kissed Greg quickly and then they both cleaned up and got dressed. They stood in the middle of the office and Greg smoothed down his clothes, trying _not_ to look like a man that had just been fucked stupid in his own office by his boyfriend.

‘Until next time, Detective Inspector,’ Mycroft grinned and wrapped his arms around Greg. They hugged tightly and kissed for a little until Greg spied the time.

‘Shit, its midnight,’ he said, ‘I gotta get back to work.’

Mycroft kissed him again.

‘Mycroft?’

‘Yes?’ Mycroft asked with a raised eyebrow.

‘You kept your promise,’ Greg said and winked.

Mycroft laughed as he turned and exited the office, keeping his eyes averted as he smoothed down his clothes.


	12. The Many Places to “Spend Time" With Mycroft Holmes

The sex was... Mycroft Holmes didn’t have words to describe it. Greg Lestrade did. And he shouted those words, or groaned them, every time he and Mycroft were together. Greg had taken to keeping a list of all the places and styles they had consummated their relationship. Greg kept this list locked in a draw of his desk at Scotland Yard and would look at it (sometimes wank over it) when Mycroft was away on one of his many business trips.

\- Bedroom

\- Kitchen

\- Study

\- Roof

\- Mycroft’s office

\- My office (again)

\- Bedroom (again and again)...

The list went on.

It was kept in Lestrade’s desk for months until a certain annoying consulting detective, ever intrusive, with great lock picking abilities and a compulsive need to steal from DI Lestrade, found said list and nearly vomited and collapsed. It had taken a packet of cigarettes and a triple homicide to calm Sherlock down. Greg then kept the list at Mycroft’s, in his boyfriend’s safe, away from Sherlock Holmes’ prying eyes.

  
  


_**The Second Time...** _

True to his word, the second time they had sex was in a bed, Mycroft’s bed. It was the first time Greg had seen Mycroft’s flat. It was large, decked out with expensive furniture, and in a building Greg could never hope to afford, even if he worked for a hundred years. It was filled with books that ranged from politics, law and astrology to the Harry Potter series.

‘Everybody’s read the Harry Potter books,’ Mycroft said when Greg looked at them.

The couple fell onto the bed and Greg climbed atop, feeling Mycroft’s erection straining through his trousers.

Greg rocked back and forth, eliciting a small groan from his partner.

‘You tease me, Gregory,’ he said.

Greg smiled and withdrew his shirt. It was the end of a long day and one of the few times Greg and Mycroft had to be alone. Soon one of their phones would ring and they’d be off chasing bad guys or sitting in difficult meetings. (Greg had a feeling Mycroft’s business meetings were about the fate of the world).

Greg leaned down to pull Mycroft’s three piece suit off.

‘I thought we discussed all these clothes,’ Greg complained as he fiddled with the silk shirt.

Mycroft chuckled. ‘My suit is part of my charm.’

‘Oh, believe me, you’re very charming without any clothing.’

Mycroft smiled and helped Greg undress him. They then had to shift to take their pants off and soon were falling back onto the bed, pushing against each other, groaning, and kissing.

Greg reached over to the bedside table, where Mycroft had dropped the condoms and lube. He grabbed both and pulled one out of the box, again using his teeth to rip open the little packet.

‘What am I going to do with such an uncivilised boyfriend?’ Mycroft asked.

Greg smirked. ‘Let him put a condom on you and fuck your brains out.’

‘Such a foul mouth,’ Mycroft said and leaned up to kiss him. Greg ran his tongue along Mycroft’s lips, making him moan.

Greg pulled back to put the condom on Mycroft and add lube.

‘Next it’s my turn,’ he said.

Mycroft nodded. ‘I’d like that very much. But please, do help me with this little problem I’m having.’

Greg shut him up with a good long kiss and manoeuvred himself atop Mycroft. Both groaned as Mycroft’s cock slid into Greg’s arse. He sat still for a second, just enjoying Mycroft being in him.

‘You’re so tight,’ Mycroft managed to groan.

Not being able to sit still any longer, Greg slid up and down slowly, taking his time. Mycroft’s nails bit deep into his hips as he moved Greg up and down. It was slow, it was warm, it was love.

Eventually Mycroft moved his hand to stroke Greg’s cock as he entered and exited him. The older man gasped. Mycroft would never get tired of hearing those little breaths, those moans that told him Greg was up to his eyeballs in love and joy.

‘Stop... thinking,’ Greg grunted, eyes closed. ‘I can... hear you.’

With a chuckle, Mycroft grabbed hold of Greg’s arse and rubbed before moving his right hand to play with Greg’s nipples.

‘Hey, what happened to stroking me?’ Greg demanded.

‘We don’t want you coming too soon,’ Mycroft said. ‘And if you want me to last you’ll slow down.’

Greg grinned sheepishly and slowed his movements. He leaned down and kissed Mycroft slowly, taking his time to explore the other man’s mouth. Their tongues fought for dominance and Mycroft came out victorious.

‘Of course,’ Greg growled and nipped his ear. ‘You can never let me win.’

‘Next... time,’ Mycroft groaned as Greg sucked on his ear. He moved his tongue down Mycroft’s neck, exploring what made the man gasp and what made him growl. He wanted to memorise each and every spot so he could drive his boyfriend crazy.

‘Slow... down,’ Mycroft warned. Greg could feel his muscles tightening beneath his thighs and he slowed once more.

‘Sorry.’

‘’S’alright,’ Mycroft grunted, opening his eyes. His pupils were blown as they raked over Greg, rubbing at his nipples.

They continued like this for the next hour, coming close but never actually coming. Soon time for exploration was over and Greg upped his speed, his hands resting on Mycroft’s chest. Mycroft stroked him quickly in time with their thrusts, his other hand gripping Greg’s arse tightly.

‘Oh God,’ Greg moaned.

‘More,’ Mycroft added. ‘I’m... God...’

And then he came, the orgasm sparking along every nerve in his body. He gasped and groaned, enjoying the pleasure sweeping through him. Greg continued to move, licking his lips as Mycroft continued to beat him off.

A few seconds later Greg was rocked with his own climax and he froze on Mycroft, eyes squeezed shut.

He pulled himself off his boyfriend and dropped to the bed, panting. Mycroft turned to look at him and linked their fingers.

‘That was...’ Greg trailed off.

‘Fucking fantastic?’ Mycroft supplied.

Greg grinned. ‘You’re starting to sound like me.’

Mycroft smiled. ‘There are worse things to sound like. And besides, I love you.’

‘And I love you,’ Greg said, leaning forward to kiss Mycroft.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


‘If there was a secret magic world, you’d tell me, right?’ Greg asked suddenly.

‘What?’ Mycroft said, looking at Greg.

‘If, like in Harry Potter, there was a secret magic world you’d know, what with you occupying _a minor role in the British Government_ ,’ Greg snorted at the last words. ‘You’d know about a magic world...’

He trailed his fingers along Mycroft’s chest and began circling his nipples. Mycroft smiled in pleasure and closed his eyes.

‘You’d tell me, wouldn’t you?’ Greg asked, adding kisses to Mycroft’s chest.

‘Wouldn’t that... be... against the law?’ Mycroft gasped.

‘’Cause you’ve never broken the law,’ Greg grumbled. ‘Actually, I’m sure we broke at least one law today. What we’re doing can’t be legal, it’s just too damn good.’

Mycroft chuckled and caught one of Greg’s exploring hands. He brought it to his lips and ran his tongue along Greg’s knuckles. ‘There’s nothing wrong with what we do.’

‘I know that,’ Greg grumbled.

Mycroft smiled. ‘I’m sure we can find some amusing ways to break the law.’ He ran his other hand down Greg’s back and squeezed his buttocks.

Greg grinned. ‘You’re a bad, bad man, Mycroft Holmes.’

Mycroft leaned down to kiss Greg. ‘I aim to please,’ he breathed.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


‘Mycroft?’

‘Mm?’

‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Is it about Hogwarts?’ Mycroft asked.

‘No...’ Greg said and Mycroft turned to look at him. ‘Moriarty.’

Mycroft propped himself up on one elbow so he could look at the DI properly. ‘What about him?’ he asked.

‘You killed him because he threatened me... because he promised not to hurt anyone you loved... right?’

Mycroft hesitated before nodding. ‘Yes.’

Greg nodded slightly, not looking Mycroft in the eye.

‘Is that all?’ Mycroft asked.

‘No...’ Greg trailed off before finally looked up at Mycroft, his eyes dark and serious. ‘Did you kill him yourself?’

Mycroft looked away but Greg grabbed his chin.

‘Please tell me, Mycroft. I have to know.’ Mycroft looked back at him. ‘Please.’

With a sigh, Mycroft swallowed, trying to move the lump in his throat. ‘Yes, I did.’

‘How?’

‘Knife,’ Mycroft answered simply.

Greg nodded. There was a few seconds silence before he said, ‘Okay.’

Blinking, Mycroft looked back at him. ‘Excuse me?’

‘I said okay,’ Greg said.

‘That’s... that’s it?’ Mycroft blinked again. ‘I just told you I killed, no, _tortured,_ a man with a knife for hours and you say, _okay_?’

‘Well,’ Greg said, ‘you didn’t mention the torture and hours parts.’

Mycroft snapped his mouth shut. ‘You think I’m a monster,’ he said.

‘No I don’t.’

‘You do, and you’re right,’ Mycroft said. ‘I am a monster.’

‘No you’re not,’ Greg said and tried to snuggle closer to him but Mycroft pulled away. He stood and paced by the bed.

‘I’m a monster, Gregory,’ he said and flashed Greg a look before pacing again. ‘I... I killed Moriarty, slowly, with a knife because that’s how I do it and... and...’

‘What?’ Greg asked.

Mycroft swallowed. ‘I liked it.’

Greg was silent at that.

‘I liked killing him.’

‘Why?’ Greg asked.

Mycroft looked at him. ‘What?’

‘Why did you like it?’

Mycroft paused, stopped his pacing, and thought about it.

‘Be-because he hurt so many people. He threatened Sherlock and John and... and he hurt you. I liked it because he hurt you and I wanted to get back at him.’

Greg nodded. ‘Okay.’

‘Why do you keep saying that?’ Mycroft growled, frustrated. How could Greg just sit there, calmly, while his boyfriend admitted to killing someone and enjoying it?

‘I might not like the torture thing, Mycroft, or the liking it part, but I understand why you did it.’ He sighed and sat up. ‘I love you, Mycroft, and I know that you’re... different. To have your job... well, of course you’re going to be a little dark. I mean, look at Sherlock. He’d probably have done the same thing.’

‘I am not my brother,’ Mycroft huffed.

‘No, you’re not,’ Greg agreed. ‘But Mycroft, I would have killed him too... and I would have made it slow. I’m sure John what have as well.’

Mycroft looked at him. ‘Really?’

‘Really,’ Greg said. ‘You’re not a monster, Mycroft, you’re human. And you were hurt that I’d been threatened so you reacted in the only way you know. I would have killed him if he’d threatened you, no hesitation. Although I probably would have lost my temper and made it quick.’

They were shrouded in silence as Mycroft let those words sink in. Finally he sighed and said, ‘Really?’

‘Yes,’ Greg said. ‘Now get back in bed, I’m cold.’

Mycroft smiled and climbed back under the covers. Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft, who buried his head in Greg’s chest.

‘I love you,’ Greg whispered, kissing his hair.

‘I love you too,’ Mycroft replied.

  
  


_**The Kitchen...** _

Granted, it wasn’t the first place Greg wanted to penetrate his boyfriend, but they weren’t going to make it to the bedroom. It had been a week since they’d last seen each other, since they’d last had sex. Mycroft had disappeared on a business trip and Greg ended up sprinting through London trying to stop Sherlock Holmes getting himself killed.

Greg had stayed at Mycroft’s and decided to cook a special dinner after Mycroft called to say he was an hour away.

Mycroft entered his flat to find a candle lit dinner waiting.

‘I didn’t know you could cook,’ Mycroft grinned and threw his arms around Greg. They kissed slowly and carefully, drinking each other in.

‘It’s just pasta,’ Greg grunted into Mycroft’s lips. ‘I can’t cook much else. It’s healthy, though, ’cause I noticed we’ve both been gaining a few kilos.’

Mycroft chuckled. ‘You sound like my brother.’

‘Sherlock is just jealous that you’re smarter,’ Greg said, ‘and you know it. He’ll say anything to annoy you.’

Mycroft looked down at his small belly and said, ‘I guess eating healthier wouldn’t be so bad. But we’ll have to exercise.’ There was a glint in Mycroft’s eyes that made Greg hard.

‘And... how do you suggest we... exercise?’

Mycroft grinned and dropped his hands to squeeze Greg’s backside. ‘I can think of some ways.’

They began kissing again, this time more heated, and Greg grunted into Mycroft’s mouth.

‘We should... eat,’ he said in-between kisses. ‘Food... getting... cold.’

‘Oven,’ was all Mycroft had to say for Greg to begin stripping.

He was soon naked and set about removing Mycroft’s coat, jacket, waistcoat, shirt, singlet, scarf...

‘How many fucking clothes do you want to wear?’ Greg demanded, growing frustrated as his cock ached.

‘It’s cold outside,’ Mycroft said.

‘I don’t care,’ Greg grumbled. ‘Go naked, just make it easy for me. I’m sick of being naked first.’

Mycroft grinned and stripped completely, throwing his socks over his shoulders. He pressed himself against Greg and ran his tongue along the DI’s neck.

‘Oh God,’ Greg murmured.

‘I’m getting tired of a certain all-powerful being getting all the thanks,’ Mycroft said and nipped at Greg’s neck. ‘I’d like a little appreciation.’

‘Then wear less clothes,’ Greg said.

Mycroft sunk his teeth into Greg’s neck, sucking so that blood would pool beneath the skin. He made sure to do it low enough so that Greg’s shirt would cover the bruise.

‘I want you, inside me, now,’ Mycroft ordered.

Greg chuckled. ‘Always so demanding.’

‘I am not!’ Mycroft protested.

‘Dinner can wait, I want you to be inside me, it’s cold out...’ Greg trailed off as Mycroft slipped a finger into his arse. ‘Jesus Christ!’

‘Another man getting thanks for my work,’ Mycroft grumbled.

Greg pushed him back and said, ‘Condom, now.’

Mycroft saluted and tore off into the bedroom. He returned with a condom and the lube, setting the bottle on the table. Greg pushed their plates aside, careful not to knock over the candles. Mycroft tore the condom open with his teeth and spat foil.

‘That’s very bad,’ he said.

Greg grinned and pulled the condom out, rolling it over his own cock.

‘Hey, it’s my turn,’ Mycroft complained. ‘I’m supposed to do that to you.’

Greg handed him the bottle of lube and the man grinned broadly. He applied some to his fingers and pushed Greg back so he was sitting on the table, legs dangling. Mycroft leaned forward and kissed him, pushing Greg further back so he could insert a finger into Greg’s arse.

The man moaned and it became louder as Mycroft inserted another finger, then another, feeling Greg’s tightness press around him. He hit Greg’s prostate and the man’s eyes flew open.

‘Hey, it’s my turn!’ he snapped.

As much as Mycroft didn’t want to remove his fingers, he very much wanted Greg inside him. So he handed Greg the lube bottle and watched as the man applied it to his throbbing erection.

Greg made a turning motion with his finger and hopped off the kitchen table. Mycroft bent over and leaned against the kitchen counter, waiting.

Greg grabbed Mycroft’s arse and slowly entered him. Mycroft groaned at the pressure, at the feeling of having Greg Lestrade inside him. It had been too long.

He moved slowly, trying to find the right angle. Suddenly he hit Mycroft’s prostate, forcing the man to moan and curl his fingers into fists. He placed his forehead against the kitchen counter as Greg fucked him.

As the tease he was, Greg only hit Mycroft’s prostate every third or fourth thrust. Mycroft had taken to stroking himself and was getting frustrated. His skin boiled, his hair clung to his sweaty face. Behind him Greg grunted, gripping Mycroft’s arse tightly.

‘For fuck’s sake, Gregory, please!’ Mycroft cried.

Greg moved forward with more feeling and began hitting Mycroft’s prostate every time.

‘Fuck, oh, Mycroft!’

‘Finally,’ Mycroft groaned and Greg laughed through his pleasure. And them Mycroft clamped around him and they both came.

Shuddering, Greg leaned against Mycroft’s back. Mycroft was using the kitchen bench to hold himself up.

‘That... was... spectacular,’ Mycroft gasped. He stood and turned to hold Greg.

‘And now you’ll eat the food I’ve prepared,’ Greg said, kissing Mycroft slowly. ‘None of this, ‘I ate two days ago’ crap.’

Mycroft grinned. ‘You’re the boss.’


	13. The Many Places to “Spend Time” With Mycroft Holmes Part II

_**The Study...** _

Once again Greg Lestrade woke to find the bed beside him empty. He’d been spending a lot of nights at Mycroft’s, either alone or with his boyfriend. He was used to Mycroft waking at ungodly hours (the Holmeses had no idea that normal people needed at least nine hours of sleep each _night._ Mycroft laughed when Greg said that).

Yawning, Greg pulled himself from bed and padded out of the room with the intention of grabbing a glass of water and heading back to bed. It was two in the morning and Greg had been up the previous two nights. He needed more sleep.

As he was drinking, Greg noticed a sliver of light creeping from under the door to Mycroft’s study. He placed the glass on the sink and went across, tapping on the door lightly.

‘Enter,’ Mycroft said lightly.

Greg walked in and saw Mycroft sitting on the couch, pouring over a dozen files. He looked up at Greg and his face broke into a smile.

‘Hello there.’

‘Hey,’ Greg said and walked across the floorboards. He leaned down and kissed his boyfriend. ‘What are you doing up?’

‘Gemma–’ (as Mycroft’s assistant was calling herself this week) ‘– called, I need to go to a meeting in Tokyo. I’m scheduled to fly out at nine.’

‘Why are you up now, then?’ Greg asked, draping his arms over Mycroft’s shoulders. He planted a few kisses beneath his ear, in the spot he knew would have Mycroft hard in seconds. ‘Come back to bed.’

‘I can’t,’ Mycroft said, trying to ignore the lips pressed against him. ‘I have... have to...’

‘Mm?’ Greg purred.

Mycroft swallowed, ‘...go over these files...’ he finished, closing his eyes. He raised a hand and ran it along Greg’s cheek.

‘Do you have to do it right now?’ Greg asked.

‘Yes,’ Mycroft said weakly.

‘Isn’t there something else you’d rather do?’

‘No,’ Mycroft lied.

‘How long will you be away?’ Greg asked, pausing to breathe the words into Mycroft’s ear. The politician shuddered beneath him.

‘A week, maybe longer. The man I’m meeting, he doesn’t like to be told what to do.’

‘Neither do you, it seems,’ Greg said.

‘I am... flexible,’ Mycroft said. ‘Why, what would you like me to do?’

Greg grinned. ‘Lay on your back and let me take you.’

Needing no further instructions, Mycroft collected the files and placed them in a pile as Greg went to retrieve a condom and the lube. He was already half hard from an erotic dream and the sight of Mycroft naked on his leather couch pushed Greg the rest of the way.

He positioned himself over his boyfriend and slid in, falling into a quick rhythm. Mycroft groaned loudly and gripped Greg’s hair, keeping the man’s head bent so that he was watching Mycroft’s cock flop around. He wanted to grab it but couldn’t; if he did he’d topple off the couch.

Mycroft moved his hands so he could stroke himself and his bright blue eyes looked over Greg, hungrily drinking him in.

‘I’ll never get enough of you,’ Greg told him. ‘Ever.’

‘I know,’ Mycroft said and smiled. ‘I love you, Gregory Lestrade.’

‘I love... you... My-Mycroft–’ he was having difficulty finishing his sentence as his cock rocked in and out of Mycroft. ‘Oh, Myc!’

‘Fuck!’ Mycroft shouted.

He came first, spitting all over himself. He was still, breathing heavily, and watched as Greg came.

The DI flopped down onto his boyfriend, breathing heavily, his shirt sticky from Mycroft’s seed.

‘Stay safe, Myc, please,’ Greg told him.

Mycroft ran a hand through Greg’s hair and kissed the top of his head. ‘I’ll do all that’s in my power to come back to you, Gregory. And I know you’ll do the same.’

Greg smiled and moved so he could look at Mycroft. ‘Always,’ he said and leaned down to share a deep kiss.

  
  


_**Greg’s Office... Again...** _

A rough case had everyone on edge, even the great Sherlock Holmes. He swept around Scotland Yard snapping at everybody. Only John Watson could calm him, and even that didn’t do much to help.

Greg was feeling tense, and angry, and fucking frustrated. He just couldn’t catch a break. He’d barely slept in the past two weeks and he had seen Mycroft twice for a quick bite. Every day, without fail, Mycroft sent breakfast, lunch, and dinner to Scotland Yard, always with a note and always with enough to feed the team.

Greg looked down at the newest note and smiled for the first time in what felt like years.

  
  


_Gregory,_

_I know you’re working hard and don’t have time, but I’d like to see you at least once this week. Tonight, if possible, we could enjoy a nice dinner at your desk. Despite the diet, I ordered you Satay Chicken and long soup, your favourite. If there’s no immediate crisis I’ll be there at eight._

_Love,_

_MH_

_x_

  
  


Greg smiled and glanced at his watch. It was ten to eight and he’d never known Mycroft Holmes to be one minute earlier or later then what time he’d set. So he pushed his dinner aside and looked over the crime scene photos carefully, looking for something he missed. He briefly wondered where Sherlock and John had got to when there was a tap at the door.

Greg looked up as Mycroft stepped into the room, carrying a single sunflower. He knew Greg liked them and the DI grinned broadly.

‘You treat me too well,’ Greg said as he stood to hug and kiss his boyfriend.

‘I know,’ Mycroft answered and dropped the sunflower into the empty coffee cup on the edge of Greg’s desk. ‘How’s the case?’

‘Terrible,’ Greg sighed. ‘I can’t get a fucking lead.’ Mycroft glanced at the photos and Greg said, ‘Be my guest.’

He swept them up with nimble fingers and went through them before grabbing the reports. Greg popped open his Chinese container and shovelled rice and chicken into his mouth, too tired to use the chopsticks.

‘Anything?’ Greg asked.

Mycroft didn’t answer. Instead he dropped the photos on the desk and said, ‘I think you’re too tense to see the clear picture. My brother, too, has wound himself too tight. But don’t worry, I’ve made sure he and John can... work that tension out.’

Greg raised an eyebrow.

‘My car is rather big, Gregory, in case you’ve noticed.’

Greg’s mind travelled back to the time Mycroft had jumped him in the car. It had been one of the rare days he was without his PA and the politician had seemed hungry for Greg’s flesh. He’d had it there and then.

‘Are you telling me that Sherlock and John are...?’

Mycroft smiled. ‘We all need to relieve tension and sex is the best way.’

Greg poked his fork at Mycroft, spraying his table with rice. ‘You have a twisted mind, Mr Holmes.’

‘And you love it,’ Mycroft said, leaning down to kiss Greg. The spicy food was evident on his lips and Mycroft licked it away while deftly plucking the fork and food from Greg’s hands.

‘I’m hungry,’ Greg complained, but not in a tone that would make Mycroft stop.

‘You need to relax,’ Mycroft murmured, running his tongue along Greg’s jaw.

‘And getting all hot and bothered would do that?’ Greg questioned.

Mycroft grinned at his boyfriend. ‘Exactly.’

Suddenly the files were swept aside and Mycroft had Greg on his desk. He pulled his boyfriend’s pants down before undoing his own and producing his erect cock. He pulled out a condom, applied it and lube with lightning speed, and manoeuvred himself into Greg.

Greg gasped as Mycroft hit his prostate over and over again, not bothering to be romantic about the affair. He gasped and groaned, trying to keep his voice under control.

‘Door... is... it... locked?’ Greg whimpered.

‘Now that you mention it, no,’ Mycroft said, who seemed very composed for a man balls-deep in his lover. Greg gasped and Mycroft said, ‘I’d better hurry, then.’

Mycroft pumped harder, Greg sliding across his desk. If this continued much longer he’d go toppling off the edge.

‘My-M-Mycroft!’ Greg whimpered as he was quickly brought to climax. He dug his nails into his own flesh as the orgasm raked through him. Mycroft came quickly and both were left panting and staring at each other.

Mycroft pulled back and set about cleaning up, zipping up Greg’s pants for him because the DI seemed to have zoned out completely. He pocketed his silk handkerchief, adjusted the files, and turned to Greg.

Greg was staring at the files, his eyes narrowed.

‘Gregory?’ Mycroft asked.

‘That’s it!’ Greg shouted.

The office door burst open and the lovers turned to see Sherlock and John. John was hastily straightening his jumper but his hair was all ruffled. Sherlock, too, seemed to have hurried to put his clothes on because the buttons of his purple shirt were done up wrong.

‘The broach!’ Sherlock shouted.

‘It was pushed into the dirt!’ Greg shouted back.

‘Because he saw it and got angry!’ Sherlock exclaimed.

‘Of course, how could we have missed it?’ Greg cursed himself.

‘ _You?_ What about _me_?’ Sherlock growled.

Mycroft smiled as they finally figured it out. John looked at him carefully.

Greg and Sherlock continued to discuss this revelation, leaving Mycroft and John to leave together. Mycroft offered John a ride back to Baker Street.

‘It seems you were right,’ the doctor said with a sly grin.

‘I’m always right,’ Mycroft said smugly.

‘Were you right about the case?’ John asked. ‘Did you figure it out?’

Mycroft didn’t reply but the smile on his face answered John’s question.

‘You could have just told them the answer,’ John said.

‘Now, my dear doctor, where’s the fun in that?’ Mycroft smirked. John laughed.

Suddenly Mycroft’s eyes narrowed on the seat next to John. ‘Please be kind enough, Doctor Watson, to clean up after yourself. I offered you my car, it is the least you could do.’

John turned and saw what Mycroft was talking about. His face turned an alarming shade of red as he pocketed the condom.

‘S-sorry,’ he stuttered, not meeting Mycroft’s eye.

Mycroft smirked.

  
  


_**Public...** _

Mycroft and Greg were enjoying a rare afternoon of each other’s company. They strolled through the park holding hands, ignoring the blatant homophobia of some of London’s citizens.

It was getting to Greg, though. While Mycroft wasn’t used to flaunting his relationships (or lack thereof) in public (yes, he considered holding hands as flaunting), the taunts of people he didn’t know were nothing. Like Sherlock, Mycroft had thick skin. But Greg had been working hard lately.

Three homicides and a murder-suicide-dog-fighting thing had kept him up the past three weeks. He’d barely eaten or slept and was smoking more than ever. Mycroft had seen him eye the bottles of wine in the kitchen and he was determined that his boyfriend wouldn’t fall off the wagon. He’d been able to have two beers last weekend without going overboard and Mycroft was thrilled at his self-restraint.

Another teenager muttered something about _fags_ under his breath and Greg froze. Mycroft tried to keep him walking but the DI wouldn’t budge. And then he turned and stormed towards the kid. It was all Mycroft could do to keep him back.

‘You wanna fucking say that again?’ Greg demanded.

The teen ( _nineteen-years-old, thinks himself a musician, did poorly in school, snorts cocaine, has lesbian mothers who beat him, homophobic because of it,_ Mycroft deduced) turned to sneer at Greg and Mycroft. He eyed the way Mycroft had his arm protectively over Greg’s chest.

‘Yeah,’ the kid drawled. ‘I said you’re a fucking _fag._ You’re a sick fucking cunt. You wanna do something about it?’

Greg’s temper, already frayed by the workload, snapped. He launched himself at the kid but Mycroft was quicker. He dropped his umbrella and stepped forward, wrapping an arm around the teen’s neck and using his other to pin the boy’s arms to his back. He squeezed tightly and flipped the teenager so he was facing Greg, who was frozen in shock. He’d never seen Mycroft move that fast or that deadly. He suddenly wondered what exactly his boyfriend did for the British Government.

‘I think you want to apologise to my _boyfriend_ ,’ Mycroft hissed in his ear. He tightened his grip and the teenager chocked. ‘Sorry, what was that?’

‘S-Sorry,’ the kid gasped.

‘Again,’ Mycroft said and squeezed tighter. ‘Please apologise to the Detective Inspector for calling him such a foul word.’

Mycroft’s grip tightened and the teenager could barely breathe.

‘Mycroft, ease up,’ Greg said, his temper ebbing away as quickly as it had come.

‘I don’t think our young friend has learned his lesson,’ Mycroft said. ‘Just because his mothers were violent does not give him a reason to hate all homosexuals.’ He looked down at the kid. ‘Does it?’

‘N-no,’ he whimpered.

‘I’m giving you one last chance to apologise properly before I completely lose my temper,’ Mycroft said. His eyes were dark, his body rigid with control. The kid, and Greg, didn’t doubt Mycroft’s words.

Mycroft loosened his grip and the teenager began crying. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, please don’t hurt me!’ Tears fell down his face. ‘I’m sorry, Detective Inspector!’

Finally satisfied, Mycroft let the teenager go. The boy dropped and quickly scrambled to his feet, taking off as fast as his skinny legs would carry him. Nobody had seen the exchange and Mycroft stopped to grab his umbrella. He brushed imaginary dust off his suit and continued walking like nothing had happened.

Greg caught up with him quickly. ‘Mycroft?’

‘Yes, love?’

‘Please don’t ever do that again.’

Mycroft stopped to look at his partner. ‘Pardon?’

‘I don’t ever want to see you like that again,’ Greg said. Mycroft’s eyes grew wide. Greg was actually afraid of him. ‘I mean, I know that with your job you probably have to... you know, but please don’t do it unless you absolutely have to.’

Mycroft raised a hand and cupped Greg’s warm cheek. ‘Gregory, I would never, ever hurt you, you _must_ believe that. You mean more to me than anything in this world. Please don’t make me promise that I will never do that again. Because if you were hurt, if you were taken from me, it’s the only thing I could possibly do to get you back.’ He paused, choking back the tears. ‘Please don’t force me to make a promise I might have to break.’

Greg threw his arms around Mycroft. ‘I don’t need that kind of promise, Myc,’ he said, pressing his face into the taller man’s chest. ‘Just make sure I... just please don’t do it over some stupid kid. Please. At least promise me that?’

Mycroft leaned back to look down at Greg. ‘I promise that I will only do... certain things, when necessary to people who deserve it, and not stupid little children who have no idea of the way the world works.’

Greg smiled and leaned up, kissing Mycroft. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome, love.’

They fell into a passionate kiss which was a little much for public eyes. Greg broke away and Mycroft groaned in disappointment. Greg linked his fingers with his boyfriend’s and dragged him towards the bushes in the corner.

‘Gregory, what on Earth are you doing?’ Mycroft questioned.

Greg pushed Mycroft up against a tree and moved down to unzip his pants.

‘Oh, I see,’ Mycroft said and watched as Greg took out his cock. A few strokes and kisses had Mycroft hard and Greg slipped his mouth over the top, licking with that talented tongue of his.

‘Gregory, is this a good idea?’ Mycroft had to ask while he still had the brain capacity to string together coherent thoughts.

‘I’m sure,’ Greg said before taking Mycroft in his mouth again.

Mycroft groaned and leaned back against the tree as Greg stroked and sucked him, quickly making the elder Holmes pant with want. He squeezed his eyes shut and moaned softly.

Mycroft was fast becoming undone and his moans were getting a little loud. But he couldn’t stop and Greg moved quickly, bringing him to a shuddering climax. Mycroft gasped and opened his eyes as Greg drank him in before standing and using his own handkerchief to clean Mycroft up (he’d taken to carrying his own just for an occasion like this).

‘What... brought... that on?’ Mycroft asked through deep breaths.

‘I love you,’ Greg said and smirked at him. ‘Simple.’

Mycroft grinned and grabbed Greg, spinning him to pin him against the same tree.

‘You dirty little man,’ Greg grinned and ran his hands through Mycroft’s hair. 

‘I’m taller than you,’ Mycroft reminded him as he unzipped Greg’s pants.

‘Fine, you dirty _old_ man,’ Greg said.

That made Mycroft smirk. ‘You’re three years older than me, Gregory.’

Greg rolled his eyes. ‘You take the fun out of everything.’ He gasped when Mycroft went to work on his erect penis, doing things Greg hadn’t felt before. He gasped and said, ‘You’ve been holding out on me.’

Mycroft chuckled but it came out distorted as he had his lips wrapped around Greg’s cock. He continued to suck and Greg watched, wondering how on Earth he’d gotten lucky enough to be with a man as beautiful and amazing as Mycroft Holmes.

He came suddenly and clenched his hands by his side. Mycroft lapped it up and zipped Greg up clean.

‘Lunch?’ he asked.

Greg’s knees felt weak. ‘Definitely,’ he grinned.

They shared a quick kiss before rejoining the public. A British Government Official and a respected Detective Inspector, that was all. Nothing dirty about it... except the hand that kept brushing the DI’s arse.


	14. Nights at 221B Baker Street

The man laying spread out on the expensive bed with equally expensive sheets had to be the most beautiful person Mycroft Holmes had ever met. That’s not to say Gregory Lestrade didn’t have his faults, but they were easy to overlook when he smiled, or listened to Mycroft rage about television, or when he did that thing with his tongue...

Mycroft blinked and realised he’d been standing in the doorway, wearing only pyjama pants, staring at his lover. He smiled and leaned against the door-frame, not ready to stop watching.

They’d been together almost a full year and had known each other for nearly six. In fact, in three days time it was their anniversary. Mycroft hoped that neither had to work. A one year anniversary was important but when compared to catching murderers and stopping international wars, it was so insignificant. The world wouldn’t stop for Mycroft and Greg.

‘Myc?’ Greg groaned, lifting his head sleepily.

Mycroft stepped forward and slid into bed. ‘Shh,’ he murmured,’ go back to sleep.’

‘Why were you staring at me?’ Greg asked, his voice thick with sleep. Mycroft found him incredibly cute like this.

‘I was just thinking, love,’ he said softly. ‘Go back to sleep.’

Greg smiled and Mycroft gave him a quick peck before settling down. Two seconds later Mycroft’s phone rang.

Both groaned and Greg buried his head in the pillow. Mycroft rolled onto his other side to pluck his Blackberry from the table.

‘Yes?’

‘ _Sorry if I woke you, sir._ ’ Her name was Emma this week if Mycroft’s memory was correct (it was).

‘No, no, I was awake.’ He glanced over at Greg, who was looking up at him with sleepy eyes. ‘What’s the problem?’

‘ _The Prime Minister of Australia has requested an urgent meeting. The Queen is unable to make it and has asked that you go to sort out the Remsky Situation._ ’

Mycroft groaned. This would mean a good week, perhaps two, in Australia. It was beautiful this time of year but Mycroft would be stuck in offices, debating with leaders and swearing under his breath. And worst of all, Greg wouldn’t be here.

‘Yes, I’ll handle it,’ Mycroft said. ‘When do I leave?’

‘ _Six am sharp, sir. I’ll have Joshua bring the car around at four._ ’

‘Thank you, Emma.’

‘ _No problem, sir._ ’

She hung up and Mycroft sighed.

‘Where you going?’ Greg asked.

‘Australia,’ Mycroft said and leaned over to brush Greg’s hair.

‘Sounds nice,’ Greg murmured. ‘Warm there in February, isn’t it?’

Mycroft chuckled. ‘It can reach forty-three degrees Celsius, love. Sometimes higher if they have a heat wave.’

‘Above forty-three is a heatwave?’ Greg murmured. ‘Here a heatwave is twenty-six.’

‘Australians are tough, but sweet,’ Mycroft murmured. ‘You’d like it there.’

‘We should go one day,’ Greg murmured, ‘for a special occasion.’

Mycroft paused. He’d wanted to say these words on their anniversary but seeing as he’d be out of the country...

‘Greg, in three day’s it’s our one year anniversary.’

Greg sat up at that, wiping the sleep from his eyes. ‘Really? I knew it was soon... I can’t believe I didn’t know that.’

‘That’s quite alright,’ Mycroft said with a smile. ‘I won’t be here anyway.’

‘Oh, right.’ Greg frowned. ‘Hogwarts sucks.’

Mycroft chuckled. Greg had taken to calling his “Government Work” Hogwarts due to all the secrecy and last minute trips. Mycroft didn’t mind. Being compared to a famous magical school wasn’t the worst thing his job had been labelled.

‘I know, love, but I’ll back in a week, two at the most.’

Greg grumbled into his pillow.

‘Gregory.’

‘No, don’t wanna hear it,’ Greg grumbled.

‘Gregory,’ Mycroft sighed.

‘No, I was gonna make you breakfast,’ his boyfriend continued. ‘Maybe eat it off you.’

Mycroft chuckled as Greg babbled on about whipped cream and bananas. Finally Mycroft kissed his cheek and said, ‘Greg.’

It was one of the only words Mycroft could say that would stop Greg completely, that and “Sherlock” (and that word made Greg twitch so violently he’d dropped a plate and sliced open his foot once).

Greg turned to look at Mycroft. ‘What?’

‘I love you, and you love me,’ Mycroft said.

‘Yes.’

‘And we’ve been together almost a year.’

‘Yes.’

‘And it’s been the best year of my life,’ Mycroft said.

‘Mine too,’ Greg said, ‘but now you’ve ruined it by going to stupid Australia.’

‘It’s not Australia’s fault.’

‘It is,’ Greg grumbled. He was very aware that he was acting like a four-year-old but couldn’t help it. He wanted Mycroft to stay so they could celebrate like a normal couple. But no.... his stupid bloody Hogwarts-government crap.

‘Gregory,’ Mycroft said carefully, running his fingers along his boyfriend’s cheek. ‘I want you to move in with me.’

Greg’s eyes went wide. ‘What?’

‘Please don’t make me repeat myself,’ Mycroft sighed.

‘Sorry, right...’ Greg paused. ‘You want me to live here?’

‘You practically do,’ Mycroft said. ‘And I hate you having to go back to that flat, which cuts into our time together. I want to wake up every morning next to you and go to sleep every night next to you. And I want to fuck you long and hard and watch you fall asleep on this bed.’

Greg laughed.

‘So... is that a yes?’ Mycroft asked.

‘How about,’ Greg said and leaned forward to kiss Mycroft, ‘we get our own place? This one is too sterile, mine’s too small. We can get a place all our own.’

Mycroft grinned. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll have Emma look into a few places. It’ll be big, Gregory.’

‘I know,’ Greg said and glanced down at Mycroft’s crotch. ‘Everything about you is big.’

Mycroft groaned and kissed his boyfriend. ‘Don’t start, Gregory, I have to catch a plane in a few hours.’

‘Right, a few hours,’ Greg said and pulled Mycroft closer. He ran a hand down his chest and followed the hair from his belly-button down to his cock.

‘God, you’ll be the death of me,’ Mycroft said. ‘Isn’t sex drive supposed to diminish the older you get?’

‘Not if I have anything to do with it,’ Greg growled.

Mycroft chuckled as Greg pulled himself atop so he was straddling his hips. Their erections rubbed together as Greg leaned down to kiss Mycroft.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


‘Ugh,’ was Sherlock Holmes’ first word of the day. He came up alongside Greg and looked at him.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ Greg asked, watching the army doctor walk around the body of a forty-three year-old woman.

‘You’ve agreed to move in with him,’ Sherlock said. ‘It’s sickening.’

‘ _You’re_ sickening,’ Greg muttered. He really wasn’t in the mood to deal with Sherlock’s shit. It was his anniversary and he was standing in the freezing cold with a sociopath and his boy toy while his loving boyfriend sat in some office halfway around the world. It was enough to make Greg snap, even at Sherlock.

Sherlock read his emotions quickly and wisely made the move to back down. He approached John and whispered something, the doctor looking back at Greg.

_Why do I get the feeling they’re plotting something concerning me?_ he thought with a sigh.

Sure enough, four minutes later, Sherlock and John were back.

‘It was the brother,’ Sherlock said. ‘Killed her because she threatened to tell their mother, on her death bed, that he had sexually assaulted one of her friends in high school.’

Greg winced. ‘How can you tell all that?’

Sherlock rolled his eyes and Greg sighed.

‘Right, whatever, I don’t really care at the moment. Write it down,’ he said and shoved his notebook into Sherlock’s hands.

The consulting detective looked startled and didn’t know what so say.

‘Where are you going?’ John asked as Greg began to walk away.

‘Store!’ Greg called over his shoulder.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Greg hadn’t smoked in the past two months. He’d been good and hadn’t even had a craving. But with Mycroft gone Greg was drawn back to the nicotine. He stood just beyond the crime scene, smoking quickly. He couldn’t believe what a wreak he became when Mycroft was gone. He’d only been alone three bloody days... and Mycroft might be gone longer.

Greg sighed and sucked back on his smoke. It burned his throat but gave his brain the boost it needed.

_Wish these things didn’t kill you,_ Greg thought. _How much better would the world be then?_

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Greg was on his third cigarette when Sherlock and John came over. John nudged his boyfriend, who frowned but stepped forward.

‘I wrote everything down and gave it to Donovan. We informed her that you were feeling faint and rushed to get water.’ He paused and glanced at John, who nodded again. Sherlock sighed. ‘I’ve also been informed that I shouldn’t have made fun of you.’

He gritted his teeth and Greg eyed him suspiciously, waiting for the joke. But it didn’t come.

‘Obviously it’s a good thing that you and my brother are moving in together, as it shows that you’re moving forward with your relationship, and moving forward is a good thing.’ He glared at John. ‘Anything else?’

‘Yes, we want to invite you over to ours,’ John said, ‘we can order in, have a few beers, and watch Sherlock go slowly insane.’

‘Oh, how wonderful,’ Sherlock said sarcastically.

Greg smiled. ‘Yeah, sure, John. That sounds good.’

Feeling slightly better, Greg flicked out his cigarette. Sherlock huffed and stormed away, all dramatic coat and bouncing hair. Greg turned to John.

‘What did you say to get him to agree to all of that?’

John grinned slyly. ‘I said I’d withhold sex for a month.’

Greg nodded. ‘That’d work. Although, I’d never survive a month without sex.’

‘No, neither would I,’ John agreed. ‘Just don’t tell Sherlock that.’

They both laughed.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


That night was just what Greg needed. He’d had a life before Mycroft Holmes and he’d have one during. He was not okay with sitting at home and pining over his absent boyfriend.

They ordered Tai food and sipped beers while watching Doctor Who. Sherlock stared at his box like the food’s very existence was an insult.

‘Please have something, Sherlock,’ John said. ‘There’s no case, you can eat.’

‘I’m not hungry,’ Sherlock said.

John sighed and leaned back on the couch.

Greg pushed his food around a bit before saying, ‘Mycroft’s the same.’

‘Oh, please don’t turn this into a night where you two trade facts about myself and my brother,’ Sherlock groaned.

‘He never wants to eat,’ Greg continued, ignoring Sherlock. ‘But he does, for me.’

Sherlock snorted. ‘I doubt it.’

John smiled slightly as Greg said, ‘He understands that it’s the small gestures in a relationship that matter. Saying I love you, kissing you good morning, eating a tiny bit of food to make the other happy.’ He sighed slightly and chewed on a bit of chicken. ‘Mycroft can put aside his prejudice against food and have some, for me.’ He shrugged. ‘But I don’t know, maybe yours and John’s relationship is different,’ Greg said. John was about to burst out laughing as Sherlock glared at Greg. ‘I mean, Mycroft eats a tiny bit for me... I just thought you’d do the same for John...’

There was a moment of silence and the Doctor Who theme blared from the television. Greg was looking at Sherlock from the corner of his eye, Sherlock was scowling and John was about to have a hernia from trying to keep the laughter in.

Finally Sherlock grabbed a fork and ate quickly, stuffing the food down his gob as quick as he could. When he’d cleared his box he dropped it on the table, grabbed John for a passionate kiss, and stormed upstairs.

John roared with laughter and Greg grinned. He picked at his meal while John composed himself.

‘That was fantastic,’ he said. ‘Oh my God, the look on his face... do you think he’s going to throw up?’

‘I don’t know, he sure stuffed the food down quick enough,’ Greg said with a chuckle.

John wiped tears from his eyes. ‘Is that true?’

Greg shrugged. ‘Sometimes we fight about the amount he eats and sleeps, or lack thereof. Mostly I just put on the puppy dog eyes and he eats a little.’

John smiled. ‘Why don’t they eat and sleep like normal people?’

‘Maybe they’re aliens?’ Greg said and sipped his beer. It was only his second, he wouldn’t go past a third. It was his own rule.

‘Yeah, our very own Time Lords,’ John mused. ‘They certainly are eccentric enough.’

Sherlock spent the rest of the night walking up and down the stairs to their room, huffing and glaring at Greg. Greg and John took to throwing small objects at him every time he appeared, forcing Sherlock to scramble back upstairs out of the line of fire.

‘We should probably stop,’ Greg giggled after he nailed Sherlock in the forehead with a piece of chicken. ‘He’ll kill us in our sleep.’

‘Probably,’ John laughed, ‘though I reckon Mycroft would avenge us.’

‘Oh, I don’t doubt that,’ Greg grinned.

‘So, you can sleep here if you like,’ John said an hour later. It was getting late and both were tired. Sherlock was sitting on the top step, his head leaning against the wall and his eyes drooping. The consulting detective actually looked tired.

‘Thanks, I might,’ Greg said. ‘Too cold to head back to an empty flat.’

‘Take Sherlock’s old room, we mostly sleep in mine,’ John said. ‘Don’t worry, there’s nothing weird in there, other than a rock collection under the bed. And they won’t bother you.’ He paused. ‘I’ll just change the sheets, though.’

‘Oh God, you’ve been doing it in there?’ Greg said.

John smirked at him as he grabbed some fresh sheets. ‘We’ve done it everywhere, Gregory.’

Greg chuckled. ‘I don’t want to hear the details.’ John changed the sheets and came back into the living room. ‘Although...’ he said and John raised his eyebrows. ‘Mycroft admitted to me that he’s never been in a serious relationship. Despite that he is very... skilled, at certain things.’

John grinned. ‘Yeah, Sherlock pretty much said the same thing. But the way he uses those hands...’ his eyes darted up to where his boyfriend was sitting.

‘Go, have fun, just don’t be too loud,’ Greg said and headed for Sherlock’s room. ‘Try not to scar me for life.’

John chuckled and headed upstairs.


	15. Moving Forward

Greg spent the following few nights at Baker Street. John was good company, Sherlock was easy to make fun of, and Greg didn’t want to go back to an empty flat. He’d received one call from Mycroft, who said the business meetings were dull and he missed Greg. Greg wanted him back so badly it hurt... he couldn’t believe how much he loved the man. And then Mycroft had to go to a meeting and hung up.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


It was a Friday night and Greg was snoozing in Sherlock’s old room. Upstairs the flatmates were enjoying a tumble and it was keeping Greg up. His thoughts drifted to Mycroft but he absolutely refused to masturbate in a room that had once been inhabited by Sherlock Holmes. He just couldn’t do it.

The front door opened but Greg ignored it. Probably Mrs Hudson, the land lady. How she put up with Sherlock was beyond Greg... she was basically his housekeeper.

There was a tap on the door and Greg sat up quickly, earning a head-rush. He blinked rapidly and asked, ‘Who is it?’

The door swung open and Mycroft Holmes stood in the doorway. Greg felt a grin break out on his face and tried to get out of bed, only to twist himself up in the sheets and fall on his arse.

Mycroft chuckled and entered the room, shutting the door behind him. He helped his boyfriend up and said, ‘How do you manage to chase criminals without falling over?’

‘I usually don’t run wrapped in sheets,’ Greg retorted.

He suddenly realised Mycroft was very closed and stopped, his breath catching in his throat. Mycroft’s lips grazed over Greg’s. ‘I missed you.’

‘You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,’ Greg said and pressed his lips to Mycroft’s. They stayed like that for a while, Greg tangled in the sheets on the floor, Mycroft crouching beside him. When they broke apart Mycroft brushed a hand along the front of Greg’s pyjamas.

What he felt make him chuckle and Greg felt his breath wash over him.

‘Have you been smoking again?’ Greg asked.

‘I could ask you the same thing,’ Mycroft said.

Greg could imagine his younger lover raising an eyebrow. It was too dark to actually see him in detail.

‘I guess we’re both guilty,’ Greg said and kissed Mycroft again.

It turned hot and passionate really quickly. Mycroft moaned into him and mumbled, ‘I’ve missed you so much. I can’t believe how much I missed the little things, like your smell, and your taste...’

‘Little things?’ Greg replied. ‘Nothing about me is little, Mr Holmes.’

Mycroft chuckled. ‘So sorry, Detective Inspector Lestrade.’

With firm hands, Mycroft lifted Greg to his feet and the sheets fell away. Mycroft pushed his boyfriend back and Greg fell onto the bed, Mycroft climbing on with him.

‘Er, Sherlock used to sleep in here,’ Greg mumbled. ‘John changed the sheets, though.’

‘I don’t care,’ Mycroft said, grabbing Greg’s face with both hands. ‘I’d root you anywhere right now.’

Greg burst out laughing. ‘Mycroft, you’ve lost all your charming vocabulary.’

‘Shut up and kiss me,’ he begged.

Greg complied, sliding his tongue into Mycroft’s mouth. The politician groaned and began removing his coat, jacket, and every other garment he was wearing. It came as a shock to Greg when he realised Mycroft was naked and he wasn’t.

‘This is different,’ Greg said, trailing his hands along his boyfriend’s body.

‘You always complain about the amount of clothes I wear,’ Mycroft said. ‘I thought this would appeal to you.’ He reached over and somehow, in the dark, found the new condoms and lube he’d bought.

‘How’d you know I was here?’ Greg asked as he rolled the rubber onto Mycroft’s erect dick.

‘Surveillance on Sherlock is 24/7,’ Mycroft replied, dragging his fingers through Greg’s thick hair. ‘They told me you were here.’

Greg smiled. ‘Do you have to know everything, Myc?’

‘Yes,’ he replied.

Greg grinned and spread lube over his fingers. He shuffled down next to Mycroft so they were both lying down, heads against the pillow. Greg searched Mycroft’s face in the dark as he inserted a finger into his lover, hearing the gasp he’d missed so desperately. He inserted another and another and began finger-fucking Mycroft, earning little moans for his effort.

‘Gregory, I’m going to come very soon and you’ll be left all alone,’ Mycroft managed to say. ‘Are you going to let this condom go to waste or are you going to let me fuck you?’

‘So demanding,’ Greg smiled and kissed Mycroft before climbing atop him. He moved so he was straddling Mycroft and moaned in pure delight when the younger man entered him.

‘I’ve missed this so much,’ Mycroft groaned, gripping Greg’s buttocks.

‘Me too,’ Greg said and began moving up and down.

Both were groaning and whimpering in seconds and they didn’t care who heard it. So what if Mrs Hudson knew what they were doing? They didn’t care if Sherlock and John could hear them. All that mattered was being together, being close, feeling each other ache and burn.

All that mattered was that they were right there, right then, together.

Greg gasped as Mycroft hit the right spot, over and over again. Mycroft gripped Greg’s cock and stroked him quickly, making Greg call out his name.

‘Oh, Mycroft, that’s... Myc!’

‘Greg!’ Mycroft gasped and felt himself about to burst. ‘Fuck!’ he shouted and thrust up, once, coming spectacularly. He dropped to the bed and watched through his own joy as Greg came, shuddering once before dropping to lay next to him.

‘I missed you,’ Greg repeated.

‘I missed you too, love,’ Mycroft said and kissed Greg slowly. ‘I love you.’

Greg smiled. ‘I never get tired of hearing that. And of course I love you, too.’

‘I’ve found some good flats,’ Mycroft said. ‘We can go looking tomorrow, or on the weekend.’

Greg grinned evilly. ‘Or...’ he said and ran a finger up Mycroft’s chest. The government worker raised an eyebrow. ‘We could shag until we can’t walk straight.’

Mycroft chuckled and enveloped Greg in a hug. ‘I like your plan more.’

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Sherlock was less than thrilled to see his brother that morning, especially since said brother was only wearing boxers and a t-shirt.

‘I’ve never seen you so casual,’ John commented.

‘Gregory likes me to keep as little clothes on as possible around the house,’ Mycroft said.

Sherlock physically shuddered and muttered, ‘I will not kill my own brother, I will not kill my own brother,’ like it was a mantra he used often.

Mycroft smirked at him and accepted the tea John offered.

‘I hope this won’t become a regular habit,’ Sherlock said from his position on the couch. He was wearing his trademark dressing gown and curled up in a ball. ‘I don’t want my brother and his boyfriend shagging in our flat every chance they get.’

‘But its so-o fun,’ Greg grinned.

Sherlock pouted and curled further in on himself.

‘Stop teasing him, Gregory,’ Mycroft said. ‘We are guests here.’

But he couldn’t keep the smirk from his face and Greg kissed him.

‘Oh, please, let the torture end!’ Sherlock shouted.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


After work the following day, and a great deal of sex in Mycroft’s car, the couple went flat hunting. Greg couldn’t help but stare in awe at the places Mycroft had picked out. They were all so _big._

They were beautiful, but none of them felt right. Greg was beginning to lose hope when he entered a spacious flat not far from Scotland Yard. It was large, with floor boards, an open kitchen and spacious living room. There were four bedrooms (one for Greg and Mycroft, a study, a library, and a spare bedroom) and four en-suite bathrooms. Greg had no idea how much it cost but when Mycroft realised how much he liked it he purchased it immediately.

‘Yeah, but do you like it?’ Greg asked.

Mycroft wrapped his arms around his boyfriend. ‘I don’t care if we live in a box, as long as you’re by my side.’

Greg smirked as Mycroft kissed his neck, his erection pressing into Greg’s back. ‘A box is hardly big enough to store your book collection.’

Mycroft smiled and continued kissing him. Soon Greg lost all feeling in his legs. Once they made sure they were alone, they tested the walls of one of the bedrooms. Let’s just say it could hold Greg’s weight.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Greg realised he didn’t own a lot of stuff. All he had were a few books, DVDs, a TV, DVD player, clothes, and some odds and ends. Mycroft kept most of his original furniture, but purchased a new bed and lounge because Greg couldn’t stand the old couch and they wanted a bed that would be just theirs.

They tested everything thoroughly and were kicked out of three furniture stores. Mycroft insisted it was worth it.

Standing in his new home, Greg couldn’t help but grin. He was here, living with Mycroft Holmes, and enjoying every damn second. How could life be so good?


	16. Fights

Like every couple that had ever existed, or would exist in the future, Gregory Lestrade and Mycroft Holmes fought. Usually it was about Mycroft’s work, Sherlock, Greg’s work, Sherlock, the ungodly hours Mycroft decided to wake up, Sherlock, Greg’s ability to shut off the alarm in the morning and make them both late, and, of course, Sherlock.

Mycroft spent amazing amounts of time watching his brother’s every move and Greg didn’t think it was healthy. For one thing, Sherlock always managed to lose the men Mycroft had follow him, and then there would be a frantic hour of Mycroft wondering if Sherlock were in some gutter somewhere OD-ing. As much as Greg tried to tell his boyfriend that Sherlock had changed, Mycroft was adamant in keeping an eye on his little brother.

Their main fights were about work, mostly Mycroft’s. As a cop, Greg was used to getting up at three in the morning, dragging himself to a crime scene and spending the following days living off coffee and sugar. But Mycroft’s work made Greg’s look easy. He’d be called away for weeks at a time, usually in the early hours of the morning. And as their relationship lengthened, Mycroft stopped telling Greg where he was going. He would just say, ‘I’ll be away for two weeks, I’ll call when I can.’

Greg could handle the secret work, and even the weeks of absence, but he hated not knowing where Mycroft was.

The worse thing was that neither man would back down in their argument. Mycroft would shout that his work was important and Greg would retaliate by saying that Mycroft didn’t give a damn if Greg knew anything, as long as Mycroft could work in peace.

Their nastiest fight happened three months before their two year anniversary. Mycroft had arrived home after a month long absence and when Greg asked where he’d been, Mycroft snapped that it was none of his damn business.

The look on Greg’s face made Mycroft’s heart melt. He looked so hurt, so betrayed.

He stood up and said, ‘Fine, I can see you don’t care.’

‘Gregory–’ Mycroft tried but his boyfriend wasn’t hearing it.

‘No, fuck you, Mycroft!’ he spat. ‘I’m sick of being left in the dark. I’m sick of you not telling me where you are. You have me fucking followed everywhere but won’t even tell me what county you’re going to. I’m sick of it.’

Mycroft tried, and failed, to get Greg back. He packed a bag and left quickly, switching off his phone so Mycroft’s calls went to voice mail.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


John Watson blinked in surprise when Greg turned up at 221B Baker Street at five am.

‘Greg, what’s wrong?’

‘We... had a fight,’ Greg said. ‘Can I stay here?’

‘Of course,’ John said and let Greg in.

Sherlock was still awake, and had been for the past two days. He opened his mouth to snap at the detective but one look told him that Greg wasn’t in the mood. He simply changed the sheets on his old bed and he and John left Greg alone to cry himself to sleep.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Mycroft called Greg’s mobile but received the same reply as the last fifteen times. “ _You’ve reached Gregory Lestrade. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you, cheers._ ” It beeped and Mycroft found a lump in his throat.

He managed to croak out, ‘Gregory, please call me, just let me know you’re okay... that we’re okay. Please, I’m worried.’

He knew where Greg would be but wanted to hear the man say it himself. That Greg would turn to Sherlock, and John, for comfort clawed at Mycroft’s heart. He was supposed to be the one that Greg came home to, not Sherlock and his boyfriend.

Mycroft sighed and leaned back in his chair. He was in his office, as usual, and Anthea tapped away at her Blackberry (she’d been using the same name for two months now and Mycroft was under the impression she’d grown fond of it).

‘Sir, if I may...’ Anthea said and her boss looked at her. ‘Gregory worries about you, as you worry about him. He just wants to know where you are... you don’t have to go into detail.’ Mycroft sighed and Anthea said, ‘Sorry, sir, none of my business.’

‘No, its fine,’ Mycroft said. ‘You’re right.’

He put his entire mind into thinking of how to make it up to Greg.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Greg had been at Sherlock and John’s for a week. He wasn’t ready to apologise to Mycroft and thankfully Sherlock and John hadn’t kicked him out. He went into the living room in the early morning to find John sitting on the floor, his back pressed to the couch. Sherlock was gone.

‘John?’ Greg questioned, stepping closer. ‘You alright?’

John’s body shook as he sobbed. Greg approached carefully and sat down beside John.

‘What happened?’

‘Stupid fight,’ John said. ‘He... he said I was an idiot and I got... I overreacted.’

Greg sighed. Sherlock really was a dickhead sometimes.

‘We said things...’ John croaked, ‘and he took off.’

‘He’ll be back,’ Greg said.

‘That’s not the point,’ John said. ‘He doesn’t respect me, he thinks I’m an idiot. I’m sick of him treating me like an inferior species.’ He sobbed again and Greg put an arm around his shoulders. ‘I don’t think I can take it much longer.’

John pressed his face into Greg’s chest and cried. Greg let him, making soothing sounds. When he got his hands on Sherlock Holmes...

There was a knock on the door and Greg said, ‘Come in.’

Mycroft Holmes stepped in and assessed the scene before him. He realised his brother had done something stupid, again. _It seems we’re both idiots_ , Mycroft thought. He was carrying a bouquet of sunflowers and placed them on the coffee table.

‘Is he okay?’ Mycroft asked, knowing he wouldn’t get an answer from John.

‘Not really,’ Greg said. ‘You’re brother’s a dickhead.’

‘I know,’ Mycroft said. ‘So am I.’

Greg sighed. ‘Mycroft–’

‘Just wait here,’ Mycroft said, ‘please?’

Greg nodded and Mycroft exited the flat quickly.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Mycroft found his brother on top of the building he usually frequented when feeling lost. He was puffing on a cigarette and offered Mycroft one. Mycroft accepted and lit it, taking a long drag and blowing smoke above his head. 

‘You’re an idiot, Sherlock.’

Sherlock paused, refusing to look at his brother.

‘How is he?’

‘Bad,’ Mycroft said truthfully. ‘What happened, Sherlock?’

‘He said something stupid, I called him an idiot. And then...’ he licked his dry lips. ‘He just started yelling and crying and... I don’t... I can’t...’

Sherlock didn’t have to finish his sentence, Mycroft understood perfectly. For all his intelligence, Sherlock was horrible when it came to people’s feelings.

‘Sherlock, things are different now. You’re partners, not friends. You can’t just call John an idiot all the time and expect him to be okay. He honestly thinks that you believe he’s an idiot.’

Sherlock’s eyes snapped around to focus on his brother. ‘What? That’s ridiculous... John is one of the smartest men I know.’

‘Yes, but he has doubts about himself, like we all do. You are brilliant, Sherlock, a genius, and John, while intelligent, cannot match your level of brilliance. And he thinks he’s not good enough for you, not smart enough. And when you call him an idiot... his first response is to defend himself with anger and push you away.’ Mycroft paused before saying, ‘And you’d know all about that.’

Sherlock pulled his eyes away from Mycroft. It was hard to hate his brother when he was right.

‘I should apologise,’ Sherlock murmured.

‘Yes, you should,’ Mycroft said. ‘And never forget to tell that man how much he means to you, Sherlock. Sometimes he forgets it.’

‘And you shouldn’t ignore Lestrade’s attempts at trying to have some kind of control over your life, Mycroft.’

Mycroft sighed. ‘Yes, I know.’

‘He just wants to know where you are,’ Sherlock said. ‘He wants to make sure you’re safe.’

‘I know.’

‘So we should both stop being idiots and apologise to our boyfriends,’ Sherlock said, ‘because I highly doubt that there’s anyone else out there who will put up with us.’

Mycroft smiled and flicked his cigarette away.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Sherlock was the first in and Greg moved away as he knelt before John, murmuring to him. John continued to cry but allowed Sherlock to give him a brief kiss. They’d be okay, Greg knew.

He turned to his own boyfriend, who stood awkwardly in the doorway. It wasn’t a trait that looked good on Mycroft and Greg smiled.

‘I’m sorry, Gregory,’ Mycroft said. ‘I just... work has always been everything to me and I forget that I now have someone who cares, who wants to know where I am. I’ve never had that before.’

Greg stepped forward and kissed Mycroft briefly. ‘I know. I’m sorry for yelling. I know your work’s important... just let me know a little bit, okay? Even a zip code would be something.’

Mycroft smiled and wrapped his arms around Greg, burying his face in his lover’s neck. ‘I’ve missed you.’

‘I missed you too... I guess... just a little bit,’ Greg said and Mycroft chuckled.

‘Let’s go home and sleep,’ Mycroft said. ‘I’ve barely slept two hours this past week.’

Greg slapped him and started on a rant about Mycroft not sleeping properly. The government official grinned.

His work would always be difficult, would always interfere with their life together... but they could work through it. Both Greg and Mycroft would make sure of that.


	17. The Little Things

It’s the little things about people that we love and hate. A certain laugh, the way someone eats their toast or sips their coffee, the way they lick a finger before turning the page, or brush the pages together... all these things make us love and hate the people around us.

Greg was noticing the little things about Mycroft. Every morning, if he were at home, he would sit in the same chair at the dining table, cross his legs, read the paper, and sip from his coffee slowly, forcing him to re-heat it several times.

When eating toast, always spread with strawberry jam, Mycroft would run his pinkie finger along the edges of his mouth to catch any stray jam or crumbs. Each bite Greg would watch him repeat the movement.

His showers took no longer then 11.3 minutes (Greg counted). Unless Greg surprised him in there, Mycroft would turn on the water, wash his hair, use the very expensive shower gel that made Greg tingle when he smelt it, rinse himself, and step out, wrapping a fluffy blue towel around his waist. More than once this towel ended up on the floor when Greg jumped him.

When he smoked, he rubbed his nose with his left hand every third drag with his thumb and pointer finger, like the smoke was getting caught up there and it was the only way for Mycroft to get it free.

Mycroft read a lot and when he did Greg would find him curled up on the couch, legs tucked under himself, left arm on the arm rest, right propped on his right thigh. He would stare at the page and then slowly turn to the next, all the while maintaining a concentrated look. Greg could have danced around naked in front of him and Mycroft wouldn’t notice.

After sex, Mycroft would wrap his arms around Greg, nuzzle his neck, and promptly fall asleep in that position. More than once Greg had had to wrestle his way out to get to the bathroom.

This information gathering hadn’t gone unnoticed by Mycroft. He simply smiled when Greg turned away, amazed that someone was taking the time to read into the little things he did unconsciously.

Mycroft himself had long ago noticed all the small things about Gregory Lestrade. But now that they were in a relationship, and living together, he noticed so much more.

Firstly, the hair rubbing. When he was frustrated, or tired, or laughing, Greg would run his left hand through his spiky hair, making it stick up even more. This made Mycroft smile and want to kiss him thoroughly and run his own hands through the DI’s hair. But that would be a little inappropriate in public.

When he was working on a case, whether it be in his office, in Mycroft’s study, or at the dining table, Greg would tap at the nearest surface with his right fingers, drumming out a beat only he knew the rhythm to.

Greg always got dressed in the bathroom after a shower, even if Mycroft eyed him from the bed with a look that said, get-back-out-here-as-soon-as-possible-so-I-can-ravish-you. He’d stroll out of the bathroom, running a towel through his hair. Mycroft had first noticed it when he’d forced Sherlock to move out of Greg’s flat... it had been such a long time ago.

‘What are you staring at?’ Greg asked one morning.

Mycroft blinked, unaware that he’d been staring. He realised he’d been watching Greg lather peanut butter on his toast. Being left-handed, Greg did everything the opposite of Mycroft. He used the knife with his left hand, the peanut butter ended up on the left side of the knife, and Greg placed it on the left side of his plate as he used his left hand to eat.

‘Um, sorry,’ Mycroft said. ‘Just watching you.’

‘Why?’ Greg asked.

‘Because I can,’ Mycroft said.

Greg smirked and bit into his toast. A bit of peanut butter scraped across his chin and Mycroft wasted no time getting to his feet, circling the table, and licking it from his boyfriend’s skin.

‘At the breakfast table?’ Greg scorned but was smiling.

Mycroft chuckled. ‘Dining table, love.’

‘It’ll be whatever I want it to be.’

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. ‘Sex table?’

Greg wasted no time and their food went uneaten for a good twenty minutes.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Neither where without their annoying habits.

Whenever Greg watched TV, Mycroft would settle beside him with a book, files or a newspaper. He allowed Greg to rest his legs across his lap and seemed content to flick through whatever he was reading while Greg enjoyed some mindless entertainment.

But every so often, Mycroft would look at the TV, roll his eyes, and go back to what he was doing.

Greg snapped one night when Mycroft did it during Greg’s favourite episode of Doctor Who. He’d recently bought all the DVD’s and had spent most of the past month watching them over and over again whenever he had free time to relax.

‘What? What is it?’ he demanded.

Mycroft jumped, realising he’d been caught. ‘Um, just, the plot...’ Mycroft started.

Greg raised an eyebrow and Mycroft shrank in on himself.

‘It seems a little... mundane.’

‘Mundane?’ Greg questioned. ‘Are you telling me that a professor who turns himself young and then into a monster and runs about trying to kill a Time Lord and a human and her family is _mundane_?’

‘Yes,’ Mycroft said.

Greg frowned and folded his arms. ‘That’s it.’

‘What?’

‘You’re not allowed to watch Doctor Who with me any more’

Mycroft blinked. ‘I wasn’t actually watching it.’

‘Out, now!’ Greg said and pointed at the study door behind him. ‘Go read in there!’

‘But Gregory–’

‘Now!’

Pouting, Mycroft extracted himself and spent the next twenty minutes sulking in his study. When Greg came to get him, he said, ‘Can I please watch Doctor Who with you? It’s boring in here.’

‘I thought you weren’t actually watching,’ Greg smiled. Mycroft sounded like a scolded child.

Mycroft swallowed. ‘Please?’

Greg smiled. ‘Fine. But you’re going to watch all of series two with me this weekend, no books, no files, no anything. Just plop yourself on the couch with some junk food and watch.’

Mycroft’s mouth fell open. ‘But... but...’

Greg raised his eyebrows and Mycroft frowned.

‘Fine.’

Despite still thinking the show was mundane, Mycroft tried to enjoy it. He found a useful way to pass the time was to watch Greg’s reactions to the episodes. It was clear he was attracted to the lead actor; David Tennant, if Mycroft recalled correctly ( _Ah yes,_ he thought, _lovely chap. I must make sure Gregory never meets him, he might try and kidnap him_ ).

Though Greg would deny it, his eyes lit up a bit every time there was a full body shot of the strapping, wild-haired man. Mycroft would tease him endlessly afterwards, resulting in Greg hiding all his coffee mugs. What ensued was a two week battle where more than one possession went missing and was later discovered in a strange place.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Mycroft’s most annoying habit was the only sleeping for five hours every couple of days. He’d come home utterly exhausted, kiss Greg, eat dinner, and nod off on the couch. Greg would drag him to bed, completely out of it, and tuck him in. Two hours later Mycroft would be up, fresh as a daisy, rummaging through files or books.

One night, 1:34 am Greg realised when he glared at their clock, Greg was woken to the sounds of something in the kitchen. He turned to see that Mycroft was gone and groaned. He’d never get to sleep with that racket.

Greg pulled himself from bed and grabbed his dressing gown, wrapping it around himself. He shuffled out of the room to find every light on, books strewn about the place, and Mycroft going through the cupboards.

‘What the bloody hell are you doing?’

Mycroft turned guiltily and said, ‘Um, nothing.’

‘Nothing? Pretty fucking loud for nothing, Myc.’ He yawned and Mycroft looked even more guilty. ‘I gotta get up in a few hours,’ he grumbled.

‘Sorry, love,’ Mycroft said. ‘Go back to bed.’

‘With you making all this noise? Not bloody likely.’ Greg approached him and leaned against the kitchen counter (with some difficulty because all their cups had been stacked into a pyramid). ‘What are you doing?’ Mycroft opened his mouth and Greg said, ‘If you say “nothing” I will never have sex with you again.’

Mycroft knew he was lying but shut his mouth anyway.

Greg groaned and ran a hand through his hair. ‘Why do you insist on not sleeping properly?’

‘I sleep very well, thank you very much,’ Mycroft said.

Greg rolled his eyes. ‘Three hours in two days is not sleeping very well, Mycroft.’

‘It is for me,’ his boyfriend retorted.

Greg rested his forehead on his arms. ‘I am going to kill you.’

‘You’d miss me too much,’ Mycroft said and continued his search of the cupboards.

‘What are you looking for?’ Greg asked, not looking up.

‘A book I once read had some interesting facts about Antarctica and the stations down there. It’s been bothering me all day, trying to remember the details,’ Mycroft said as he stood on his tip-toes to feel above one of the cabinets.

‘And you thought searching the flat at one in the morning was a good way to solve that problem?’ Greg sighed.

Mycroft said, ‘Yes, I did. And it’s two am, love.’

Greg groaned and shuffled over to the dining table. He dropped into a seat but moved about to pull whatever he’d sat on from under him.

‘You know, they’ve got this thing called the internet, and Google,’ Greg said as he looked down at the novel he’d sat on. ‘And there’s Wikipedia...’

‘I refuse to resort to Wikipedia to find the information I want,’ Mycroft muttered. ‘I know I have the book somewhere.’

‘Why don’t you just buy a new one?’ Greg said, turning the book over to read the back cover.

‘I will not buy a copy of a book I already have.’

‘But you’ve lost it,’ Greg said.

Mycroft turned to glare at him. ‘I have _not_ lost it, I have... misplaced it.’

Greg chuckled. ‘Everyone uses that excuse,’ he murmured and looked back at the cover. ‘So what’s the book called?’

‘I don’t remember.’

‘That’s not helpful.’

‘I’ll remember when I see it,’ Mycroft said.

‘Sure, sure.’

Mycroft had moved onto the fridge and was scanning the shelves.

‘Why would you put a book in the fridge?’ Greg asked.

Mycroft smiled. ‘Keep it crispy?’

Greg giggled. It was late... or early, he was tired, and his boyfriend had finally snapped and gone mental _And I thought Sherlock would be the first to go_ , he mused and looked back at the book he was holding.

‘I have not gone mental, and Sherlock will definitely be the first to go,’ Mycroft commented.

Greg smiled. ‘So, you have no idea what it’s called?’

‘No.’

‘The author?’

‘No idea.’

‘What’s it about?’

Mycroft sighed. ‘An ice station, love. A team of Marines go to an ice station... Wilkes, I believe it was called, to protect something that’s been buried in ice. Normally I don’t like action novels but the author was particularly skilful at writing action sequences. He was only twenty-three when it was published, I believe.’

‘Right...’ Greg said and flicked through the book. The first few pages had maps and Greg snorted as his eyes raked over them.

‘What?’ Mycroft asked.

‘Nothing,’ Greg said innocently.

Mycroft left the kitchen and started looking through his now empty bookcases, peering behind them in hopes of finding the book in the dark crevices.

‘You don’t have night-vision, Mycroft.’

‘You,’ Mycroft breathed, ‘do not know that.’

Greg laughed again. ‘Okay, so, it’s about an ice station... and marines... written by a young guy... about an ice station... and something metal... I take it that because it was set at an _ice station_ , there’s ice everywhere.’

Mycroft turned to look at his partner. ‘Gregory, have you gone mad?’

Greg’s eyes went wide. ‘ _Me?_ Look at this place!’

Mycroft looked around. There were books stacked everywhere, the TV had been turned around, DVD’s scattered the floor, every cooking utensil was stacked strangely on the kitchen counter, and the couch cushions had been thrown about.

‘Well...’ he said, ‘in my defence, I _am_ looking for something.’

‘And in _my_ defence, I’m up at two am with a mental man who claims to be a genius.’

Mycroft huffed and crossed his arms. ‘I _am_ a genius.’

‘Yet you fail to remember the book you’re looking for... about an ice station.’

Mycroft frowned. ‘Gregory, why do you keep saying _ice station_?’

Greg burst out laughing. No, it was too much.

Mycroft was confused. ‘Gregory, what has gotten into you?’

‘Oh, God, Mycroft, you are just so bloody funny sometimes!’

‘I... do not understand.’

Greg held up the novel he’d sat on. The cover was white, the pages fading with age, but the picture was still clear. Across the top was the author’s name, Matthew Reilly, written in big silver letters. Beneath that was the book title in white letters, Ice Station. And behind the words... a picture of ice.

Greg burst out laughing again and tears fell from his eyes. He smacked the book on the table and hollered as Mycroft came over, picking up the novel.

‘Oh,’ he said, ‘Ice Station, I get it.’

‘Oh, God, but I do love you, you idiot!’ Greg said, still laughing.

Mycroft frowned. ‘It’s not funny.’

‘But it is!’ Greg giggled. ‘It’s about an ice station and it’s _called_ Ice Station. And it was sitting on this chair the whole time. You failed to remember both these facts.’ He burst out laughing again and Mycroft frowned.

‘Dear God, I think I’m dying,’ Greg gasped. ‘Can you die from laughter?’

‘You may be the first,’ Mycroft fumed.

Greg grinned and finally snapped out of it. He yawned.

‘You could have told me,’ Mycroft said and pointed the book at Greg. ‘You are such a tease.’

Greg couldn’t take any more laughing and stood. He quickly grabbed the book and said, ‘You’ll get it back when you finish cleaning up.’

‘But Gregory!’ Mycroft whined.

‘No,’ Greg said. ‘Clean up, mister, while I go lie in bed and read about the ice station.’ He broke into a fit of giggles as he went back to bed, leaving Mycroft to stand alone amongst the chaos he had caused.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Gregory had many little faults, Mycroft knew. The drinking (but that was in the past), the smoking (he really was trying to quit), the leaving dirty underwear in the floor (Mycroft was really trying to get past that). But the most annoying thing, something Mycroft couldn’t stand, was Greg messing with his books.

He kept them in alphabetical order by author’s last name and in groups, from fiction (sub-categorised by genre) to biographies to manuals to everything else he’d collected. It was a system that worked well for Mycroft. If he wanted to find a particular book all he had to look for was that section and the author’s last name (he was trying very hard to forget about the while “Ice Station Incident”, as Greg was calling it. He still laughed when he told the story).

But moving in together meant that Greg had bought his own books. And while Greg read, his collection wasn’t as vast as Mycroft’s. He had a few action novels by Matthew Reilly (he’d bought every one of the author’s books after the “Ice Station Incident” and now loved the man), Stephen King, James Patterson and Tom Clancy, but most of Greg’s collection consisted of books about football, football players, old football games, football from around the world, every Doctor Who novel ever written, and the Harry Potter series (because, seriously, who _doesn’t_ own the Harry Potter series?).

And these books got crammed in anywhere Greg saw fit when he was done flicking through them. Mycroft often found them stuffed in-between his own, not in the right category _or_ in alphabetical order by author’s last name. While some might call this eccentric (well, it is just a bit crazy), Mycroft had been doing this for forty-six years and wasn’t about to change now.

‘Gregory!’ he shouted.

Greg was sitting on the couch. ‘What?’

‘What the hell is this?’ Mycroft was pointing at one of his smaller bookcases, the one beside the spare bedroom.

Greg knew Mycroft was angry because he rarely swore otherwise (unless he was aroused). And the look on his face... no, definitely not aroused.

‘Um... it’s a bookcase?’ Greg ventured.

Mycroft turned red and Greg wilted.

‘I’m... I... what’s wrong?’

‘This!’ Mycroft shouted, grabbing a hard-cover book from top the neatly stacked others, ‘Is not about wolves, is it, Gregory?’

Greg looked at the book and released it was one of his many Doctor Who novels. They were all identical, the same size, hard-cover, with the Doctor Who logo printed on the spine.

‘Er... no, no it’s not.’

‘No,’ Mycroft said and pointed it at Gregory. ‘It is called The Doctor Trap, and that does not sound like it has anything to do with wolves, does it?’

‘No,’ Greg said weakly.

‘And Simon Messingham’s surname does _not_ begin with an R, _does it_?’

‘N-no.’

‘NO!’ Mycroft shouted.

Greg winced. ‘Mycroft, it’s just a book.’

‘No, it’s not just a bloody book!’ Mycroft shouted. ‘It’s a book in the wrong place!’

‘Calm down,’ Greg said, ‘you’re getting a little OCD about the whole thing.’

Mycroft glared at him. He threw the book on the ground, kicked it, and stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

_Okay,_ Greg thought as he got up quickly and set about making sure his books were in the right place, _that was_ so _not about the books._

When he was done, and had checked his work several times, Greg ventured into the bedroom. Mycroft was curled up on the bed and Greg was reminded of Sherlock... seemed the brothers had more in common than they thought.

‘I am _not_ like Sherlock,’ Mycroft sniffed.

Greg realised, with a jolt, that Mycroft was _crying_.

‘Myc, what’s wrong?’ Greg asked and stepped closer. He sat on the bed and Mycroft flinched. ‘Mycroft...’

‘Go away.’

‘Tell me.’

‘No.’

Greg sighed. ‘This isn’t about the books.’

‘Yes it is.’

‘No,’ Greg said slowly, the pieces all fitting together, ‘this is about you having OCD, something which you cannot control, and that infuriates and frightens you because you’re a control freak.’

Mycroft sniffed again.

‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of.’

‘Yes it is,’ he huffed. ‘I can’t sleep if my books aren’t in the right order, in _my_ order. It drove me mad as a child. I’d be up half the night checking them to make sure they were in the right order.’

‘Is that why you barely sleep?’ Greg asked.

‘No, that’s genetics, love,’ Mycroft said and Greg could tell he’d smiled slightly. ‘This... I don’t know.’

‘OCD isn’t something to be ashamed of, Mycroft.’ He didn’t reply and Greg moved across the bed so he could hug his boyfriend. ‘You should have told me.’

‘I didn’t...’

‘What?’

Mycroft tried again. ‘I didn’t want you to think I was weak.’

‘I could never think that, Mycroft.’

‘I’m weak.’

‘No you’re not.’

‘Gregory?’

‘Yes?’

‘Right now all I can think about is going out there, picking up that book, and putting it in the right place.’

Greg smiled and ran a hand up his back. ‘I took care of it.’

‘Oh... are you sure?’

Greg rested his head against Mycroft’s shoulder. ‘Yes, but you can check if you’d like. Then you can show me how you do it so I don’t screw up in the future.’

Mycroft turned to face Greg. ‘Really?’

‘Yes,’ Greg said, ‘this isn’t something you can control, Mycroft. And it’s not hurting anyone.’

‘I yelled at you.’

‘So?’ Greg smirked. ‘Your brother yells at me every day.’

‘I am not–’

‘Sherlock, yes, I know,’ Greg cut him off. He pulled Mycroft off the bed, who groaned. Greg wrapped his arms around the taller man and kissed him. ‘It’s okay.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes,’ he said and kissed Mycroft again. ‘Come on, show me how you arrange them.’

Mycroft smiled and dragged Greg from the room.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Oh, and Greg’s best/worst habit? He was an absolute tease.


	18. The Question

The morning of their two year anniversary, Greg woke up to breakfast in bed. There was a note from Mycroft that he read while munching on toast.

  
  


_My dearest Gregory,_

_I do apologise for not being there when you wake but I had an urgent matter to attend to. I will most definitely see you tonight, it isn’t something I’d miss for the world. Even if it causes World War III, I will pick you up from Scotland Yard at seven pm sharp. If you receive a case, leave it to Sherlock. I have expressed my need of you tonight and he has begrudgingly accepted to work if he is needed. He and John, while consummating their relationship on the same night of our first date, do not celebrate their anniversary until four days after ours, as John does not believe that was the..._ _ proper _ _beginning of their relationship. So do feel free to use Sherlock to your full advantage. I have promised Sherlock too many things but it will be worth it to see you tonight._

_Love always,_

_M_

  
  


Greg grinned and finished his breakfast. He was a little disappointed that Mycroft wasn’t there but the man had promised over the past month that that night would be special, that he would never even think of missing it. Greg trusted him.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Sherlock was crabby all day. John was visiting relatives and wouldn’t be back until later that night, making Sherlock turn into a whining child. But Greg was in good spirits and kept him busy as he filled in paper work. It was like having a dog. Sherlock ran around his office with bursts of energy but was sidetracked by anything shiny.

As seven o’clock neared, Greg felt himself grow restless. He tapped at his desk, his knee jiggled, and he needed a smoke.

Sherlock sighed and threw a packet at him. ‘You’re annoying me, Lestrade. Just go.’

‘And leave you here?’ Greg said. ‘Not bloody likely.’

Sherlock sighed again. ‘I have promised my brother that I will not destroy anything. I can’t go back to the flat, I miss John.’

It was the first time all day that Sherlock had admitted it and Greg smiled.

‘Alright, just don’t go through my desk. Remember what happened last time?’

Sherlock cringed at the memory of the list and Greg grinned as he headed out.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Greg puffed on his cigarette and kept glancing at his watch. It seemed that time had purposely slowed down to annoy him. He growled and said, ‘Stupid watch.’

‘Talking to inanimate objects? How very Sherlock.’

Greg turned and grinned as he looked Mycroft up and down. The man was as dapper as usual and he smiled warmly.

‘Good evening, Gregory.’

‘Mycroft,’ Greg grinned. He threw himself around his boyfriend and kissed him. ‘Happy anniversary.’

‘And happy anniversary to you too,’ Mycroft smiled.

‘So, what now?’ Greg asked.

‘Dinner,’ Mycroft said, ‘but first I want to show you something.’ Greg raised an eyebrow and Mycroft tutted. ‘Please remove your mind from the gutter, Gregory.’

They passed Mycroft’s car and continued down the street.

‘We’re walking,’ Mycroft informed him. ‘It’s not that far.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Mycroft stopped and turned to face Greg. He pulled him close and kissed him passionately, eliciting a small groan from his lover.

Chuckling, Mycroft pulled back and said, ‘Look around.’

Greg did. They were standing in a street not far from Scotland Yard. It was dark and cold, a light rain falling. Mycroft’s umbrella rested against his leg but he made no move to open it.

‘What are we doing here?’ Greg finally asked. He didn’t want to spend their anniversary standing in a cold street.

Mycroft smiled. ‘You really don’t remember, do you? Well, it was a long time ago...’

‘What _are_ you talking about?’ Greg asked.

Mycroft said, ‘This, my love, is where we met, seven years ago. Right here is where I stopped your police car, introduced myself, and took Sherlock.’

The street didn’t look familiar but Greg remembered that night well. He grinned as images swam through his mind; he and Mycroft, younger, only just meeting. The spark was there, all those years ago.

‘I remember it well,’ Greg finally said and moved forward to kiss Mycroft. The younger man gripped his arse and Greg chuckled. ‘We didn’t do this, though.’

‘No, we didn’t,’ Mycroft said against his lips. ‘I wish I’d acted earlier. We would be celebrating seven years together, not two.’

‘Doesn’t matter now,’ Greg said.

They kissed passionately for a few minutes, neither caring about the dinner reservation that loomed ever closer. Finally it was Mycroft who broke away and Greg groaned, annoyed.

Mycroft chuckled. ‘I know, but I have a very good reason for stopping.’

‘And that would be?’ Greg demanded.

And then Mycroft Holmes, the man Greg had met on that very street seven years ago, stepped back, dropped to one knee, and produced a velvet box from his coat pocket. Greg’s eyes went wide as Mycroft flicked the box open and said, ‘Gregory Lestrade, will you marry me?’

Greg couldn’t believe it... absolutely could _not_ believe it. Mycroft Holmes, who occupied _a_ _minor position in the British Government_ , who could tell you your life story from a glance, whose wardrobe was more expensive then Greg’s old flat, and who was wearing a very expensive suit, was kneeling on the wet road, arms up, holding a ring.

‘Gregory?’ Mycroft asked, a small smile on his lips. ‘Did you hear me?’

Greg blinked and grinned. He pulled Mycroft to his feet and said, ‘Yes, God yes, of course I’ll marry you!’

Mycroft beamed and threw his arms around Greg, pulling the older man in for a passionate kiss. Neither felt very hungry and Greg pulled Mycroft down the street, stopping every now and then to kiss. Finally they found a narrow side street and Greg pushed Mycroft up against the wall, a slight chill creeping through his coat.

‘Gregory...?’ Mycroft trailed off as Greg placed hot, wet kisses down his neck. Normally both refrained from giving each other marks that could be seen by others but tonight Greg didn’t care. He bit down hard and sucked against Mycroft’s neck, making his lover groan.

_No, fiancé,_ Greg corrected himself. _I’m making my fiancé groan._

If possible Greg grew even more aroused and he moved to make an identical mark on the other side of Mycroft’s neck.

‘Gregory,’ Mycroft tried again, ‘we’re in public.’

‘Don’t care,’ Greg said against his neck.

They’d had sex in public before (in Mycroft’s car, on the roof of his building, in both their offices, and even in a park). Each time the fear of being caught had only increased their desire and tonight was no different.

Mycroft grabbed Greg and turned him so that his back was pinned to the wall. It was Mycroft’s turn to make Greg moan and he did his best, sucking at Greg’s neck like it was oxygen.

‘Is it... bad for gr-grown men...’ Greg stuttered in-between moans, ‘to...to...have hick-hickeys?’

Mycroft grinned against his neck. ‘It’s too late now, love. And besides, you started it.’

Greg knew but didn’t care. Mycroft had moved down his body and was licking at him through his shirt. He ran a hand up and along Greg’s stomach, making him gasp and shiver. With skilled fingers he un-looped Greg’s belt and pulled his fly down. He wriggled a bit before getting his underwear down and pulling out Greg’s throbbing cock.

It was cold but Mycroft was changing that. Greg felt his body heat up as Mycroft took him in his mouth, running his tongue along the tip of Greg’s prick. He groaned as Mycroft took him completely, moving his hot mouth up and down Greg’s shaft.

‘Oh God,’ Greg moaned, rocking his hips forward as Mycroft sucked. He nearly went over the edge when Mycroft’s other hand came up to cradle his balls.

‘Jesus Christ,’ Greg gasped.

Mycroft pulled his mouth away and Greg felt the cold air dull his raging erection. ‘You get very religious when I do things to you,’ Mycroft said with a smirk. ‘Why is that?’

‘I’m going to kill you if you don’t get that mouth back on my cock right now,’ Greg warned.

Mycroft grinned and said, ‘So sorry.’ He manoeuvred his mouth back over Greg’s prick and sucked harder, forcing Greg’s fingers to fist in his hair.

‘God, God, God, Mycroft, _shit_!’ Greg gasped and felt Mycroft smile around him.

Mycroft knew that Greg was near and sucked even harder, Greg’s fingers curling about in his hair. Greg looked down just in time to see himself come in Mycroft’s mouth. After that he was seeing stars as the orgasm raked his body, making him arch back against the wall. He panted heavily as Mycroft gulped him down before removing his mouth. He produced a handkerchief and cleaned himself and Greg up.

‘Oh my God,’ Greg said as Mycroft tucked him back in. ‘That might just be the best blow job I’ve ever had.’

‘I’m glad I could make your night so enjoyable,’ Mycroft smirked and kissed his fiancé. Greg felt Mycroft’s erection press against him and ran a hand along Mycroft’s bulge. The tall man groaned and Greg grinned.

‘Your turn,’ he said.

Mycroft made no attempt to stop Greg as he unbuckled his belt, unzipped his trousers, and reached down his boxer shorts to pull out his cock. Pre-cum had made the tip sticky and Greg wasted no time lapping it up. Mycroft shuddered as Greg knelt down and ran a tongue along Mycroft’s cock, cupping his balls with the other hand. He continued to tease his lover, taking the tip of Mycroft’s cock in his lips and licking before pulling back.

‘Gregory...’ Mycroft warned and Greg felt him shaking with lust.

‘Yes?’ Greg breathed against him, once again licking at the top.

‘Gregory, please,’ Mycroft begged.

‘You know what I want to hear,’ Greg teased. He sucked down a bit further and came back up, making Mycroft whimper.

‘God, suck me off, Greg!’ Mycroft finally begged.

_Made him say God and got him to call me Greg_ , Greg thought. _Excellent_.

He took Mycroft’s cock completely, feeling his gag reflex kick in. He fought against it and proceeded to suck Mycroft off, going slowly and then picking up his pace. Mycroft bucked into him and was practically throat-fucking his fiancé. Greg took it all in his stride, continuing to suck hard.

Greg felt Mycroft tense beneath him and his moans quicken. He sucked one last time, gripping his balls, and Mycroft came.

Greg wasn’t as graceful as his lover and he pulled back, feeling cum leak down his chin. He mopped it up as best he could before Mycroft produced his handkerchief.

Mycroft was shaky on his legs and could barely remain standing as Greg cleaned them both up.

‘Best blow job ever?’ Greg asked.

Mycroft nodded, his breathing heavy. He tucked himself back in and said, ‘You are far too good at that, Detective Inspector Lestrade.’

‘Why thank you, Mr Holmes,’ Greg grinned and leaned up to kiss Mycroft deeply. They stood there for a few more minutes making out before Greg pulled back. This time Mycroft groaned.

With a laugh, Greg said, ‘I’m hungry.’ His stomach growled in agreement. ‘We’re going to go eat at that fabulous restaurant and then we’re going to go home, or anywhere between the restaurant and home, and we’re going to fuck each other silly. Then tomorrow we’re going to go out and get you an engagement ring like mine. Is that understood?’

Mycroft grinned. ‘I do love it when you take command,’ he said and kissed Greg quickly. ‘Dinner, play, shopping. My three favourite things.’


	19. Telling Part I

_**Sherlock and John...** _

The ring was a simple, thin, silver band. Mycroft got a matching one and informed Greg they could wear them beside their wedding rings, on another finger, or take them off completely after they were married. Greg decided to jump that hurdle when they came to it.

The next day he felt like people on the streets were staring at him. Whether it was because of the ring or the fact he could barely walk (who knew you could have sex so many times in a row? He felt like his dick was going to fall off) Greg didn’t know. Eventually he realised he was being paranoid and shook his head as he stood outside Scotland Yard smoking. He had quit (he _had_ quit, he told himself... hadn’t he?) but he felt today was a day to celebrate. And he wanted to celebrate with a cigarette.

He was puffing on it slowly, grinning, when Sherlock and John appeared. Greg spied a hickey on the pale skin of Sherlock’s neck and he smiled. Seemed he and Mycroft weren’t the only ones celebrating last night.

‘What are you smiling about?’ Sherlock demanded.

‘Oh, nothing,’ Greg said. ‘I just think your neck looks good in that colour.’

Sherlock realised what Greg was talking about and shifted his scarf around. Greg chuckled and John joined in.

‘I told you so,’ John said. ‘But you were all, “bite harder, John, please!”’

Greg broke down laughing and Sherlock glared at him, swiping a cigarette. He shot John a filthy look as he lit it and puffed on it.

‘Sorry, sorry,’ Greg gasped.

‘You’re one to talk,’ Sherlock snapped. ‘Your neck looks like a connect-the-dots.’

Greg shifted uncomfortably. He was well aware that his neck looked like it had been attacked. He had three or four visible hickeys on his neck and more all over his body. Mycroft looked the same but had worn a scarf. Greg hadn’t thought that far ahead.

‘What’s the occasion?’ John asked, smiling.

‘Two year anniversary,’ Greg said.

Sherlock groaned and John shoved him. ‘We’re celebrating ours later,’ he said and winked at Sherlock, who managed a small smile. John looked back at Greg. ‘What did you do?’

‘Oh, you know, dinner and stuff,’ Greg said and John laughed.

Suddenly Sherlock’s eyes zeroed in on Greg’s left hand. The DI wondered why it had taken him so long to notice it.

‘Oh no,’ Sherlock said.

‘What?’ John asked.

‘My brother’s finally lost his mind,’ Sherlock said.

‘That’s not very nice,’ Greg commented.

‘But it’s true!’ Sherlock said. ‘Oh, now he’s going to be even happier! He’s sickening when he’s happy!’

‘What is going on?’ John demanded.

Deciding to put the doctor out of his misery, Greg held up his left hand.

John’s eyes went wide. ‘Is that a–?’

‘Engagement ring,’ Greg said. ‘I didn’t think diamonds would match my watch, don’t you agree?’

John laughed and hugged Greg. ‘Congratulations.’ He looked at Sherlock, who was still scowling. ‘Sherlock!’

‘Fine, congratulations,’ Sherlock drawled. ‘Drinks all around.’

‘Ignore him, he’s an idiot,’ John said.

Sherlock shot him an annoyed look but didn’t say anything.

‘So... how are you two going?’ Greg asked.

Sherlock glared and nicked another of Greg’s cigarettes. John smiled and said, ‘Well, you know what it’s like to live with and love an eccentric Holmes.’

‘I am _not_ eccentric!’ Sherlock snapped.

Greg and John burst out laughing.

  
  


_**Donovan...** _

After saying goodbye to Sherlock and John, and having another cigarette, Greg headed inside. He said good morning to a few people before making his way to his desk where a mountain of paper work sat. With a sigh, Greg fell into his chair. He really should have bought another cup of coffee.

‘Delivery,’ Sally Donovan said and walked into the office. ‘This just came for you, I was heading up here so I thought I’d bring it up.’

Greg looked up at her and smiled at the large cup of coffee and pastry. He took them and the note, thanked Sally, and flipped the paper open (Sally stared at his numerous hickeys, her mouth gaping);

  
  


_Gregory,_

_With your mountain of paper work I knew you’d need a second cup of coffee and something to eat. Try not to smoke too much, but I must say that I’ve fallen off the wagon too. I’m still weak in the knees, by the way, and I blame it entirely on you._

_With love,_

_M_

  
  


Greg smiled. Just like his brother, Mycroft signed every letter, text or email with his initials. He and John had both agreed that it was cute.

‘Someone loves you,’ Donovan commented as she sipped her own coffee, trying very hard not to stare at Greg’s hickeys.

‘My fiancé loves me,’ Greg informed her and held up his left hand.

Donovan spluttered into her beverage and Greg grinned. Wasn’t often that he knew more gossip then she did. This was his one chance to see the look of shock before she launched into her questionnaire.

Who?

What?

Where?

When?

Greg answered all quickly.

‘His name is Mycroft Holmes. Yes Sally, he’s related to Sherlock; Mycroft is his older brother. You met him, remember? I don’t quite understand you asking _what_ , but he got down on one knee. Where; the street we first met, when he stopped us hauling in Sherlock. And when? Last night, our two year anniversary.’

Greg finished and looked at Donovan. Her mouth was hanging open, her eyes wide. And then she realised what she was doing and said, ‘Er, sorry... congratulations, sir.’

He smiled and said, ‘Thank you. Now, I have a lot of papers to fill in.’ He made a _shooing_ motion with his hands and Donovan smiled before leaving.

Greg knew the news of his engagement to the Freak’s brother would be the highest gossip by lunch time.

  
  


_**Dimmock...** _

Greg had actually planned on telling Dimmock first (beside Sherlock and John, of course). In the past two years they had become good friends. However, it was Mycroft the young DI had more in common with. The two could often be found discussing everything from politics to plant species long into the night when the group got together for drinks (Greg could now enjoy two or three beers without going over the edge). The young DI Dimmock was much smarter then he appeared.

So when the younger detective knocked on Greg’s door and entered, Greg held up his hands. ‘Sorry, Michael, I was going to tell you but Sally... well, you know Sally.’

Dimmock waved his apology aside. ‘No need, Greg. Congratulations, by the way.’ He held out his hand and shook Greg’s. ‘I just spoke to Mycroft and he sounded as happy as you look.’

Greg smiled. ‘Besides my arse aching, I’m just fine.’

Dimmock made a gagging sound and they both laughed.

‘So, when’s the big day?’ Dimmock asked and fell into the seat opposite Greg.

‘Dunno,’ Greg said. ‘I guess I’ll leave all that to Mycroft. I’m not much of a planner.’

Dimmock nodded. ‘Well, anything I can do to help.’

Greg had actually thought about this and smiled. ‘You can be my best man.’

Dimmock’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline and Greg laughed.

‘Don’t look so shocked, you’re basically my best friend.’

‘Yeah,’ Dimmock said, ‘I thought you would have asked John, though.’

Greg smiled. ‘He’ll be up there too, just more of a... _second_ best man, I guess. And there’s no way in hell I’d ask Sherlock. Besides, I think Mycroft’s going to ask him to be his best man. I have no idea how that’ll go.’

With a snort, Dimmock stood and clapped Greg on the shoulder. ‘It would be my honour, Greg.’

‘Thanks, Mike,’ Greg said.

The young DI nodded and left Greg with his paper work.

  
  


_**Anderson...** _

Other then seeming to not know that his boss liked men, Anderson didn’t really react to the news. He just nodded, asked what her name was (Greg corrected him, saying _his_ name was Mycroft Holmes. He got a kick out of the look on Anderson’s face when he’d said, yes he’s related to Sherlock, he’s Sherlock’s older brother).

After that the day went on as normal. A few people went out of their way to congratulate Greg. There were a few upturned noises at the fact that he was gay and wanted to get married (or, as a few people pointed out, it was actually called a “civil union”) but Greg ignored them. There would always be prejudice in the world, no matter how far people claimed the human race had come.


	20. Telling Part II

_**Greg’s Sisters...** _

Sydney Duncan ( _married_ _name_ , Mycroft recalled) lived in outer London and her twin sister Isabelle Weiss ( _also her married name_ ) lived a few houses down. The three siblings kept in touch via email and telephone calls once a month.

Greg hadn’t failed to mention Mycroft, he just hadn’t kept his sisters as updated as they would have liked. So when he informed them in an email that he was engaged to Mycroft, he received two very threatening and screamed phone calls.

The first one, from Sydney, went like this;

‘ _Oh dear God, Gregory Johnathan Lestrade, how could you not tell me you were engaged? How could you not tell me this Mycroft fellow and you were so serious? Shame on you, Greggie! If I don’t meet him within the week I swear I will murder you three different ways!_ ’

The second, from the slightly more stable Isabelle, went like this;

‘ _Okay, I’m just going to say this once, Greg. Email; not the way to inform your sister you’re getting married! And who is Mycroft? Why haven’t I met him? Gregory Johnathan Lestrade–’_ (they both enjoyed using his full name when angry) ‘– _I better meet this man soon. What if he isn’t good enough for you? What does he even do? For all you know he could be a gangster! Call Syd and arrange a day we can all have dinner. Don’t leave me waiting, Greggie!_ ’

These two phone calls were why Greg and Mycroft were driving to Sydney’s place on a Friday evening. Mycroft had informed Annabelle (his assistant seemed to like the A names) to take all his calls and unless there was a very big emergency (like an alien attack on the Palace) then he was not to be disturbed.

Greg felt nervous as he stepped from Mycroft’s posh car. Mycroft had driven them and Greg didn’t even ask how his fiancé knew where Sydney lived. He didn’t doubt that Mycroft had some kind of surveillance on his entire family. Quite frankly he didn’t care.

Greg walked up the steps with Mycroft and paused, only looking at his lover when Mycroft kissed him on the cheek.

‘It’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘I’ll be my usual charming self.’

‘The first time we met I wanted to smack you in the head,’ Greg said. ‘So did John, by the way.’

Mycroft chuckled and gave him another kiss, this one to the lips, and it turned very hot very quickly. They didn’t notice the front door was open until someone tutted and said, ‘Look at you two, making out in public.’

They broke apart and Greg blushed, thinking about what else he’d done to Mycroft in public. He looked up and said, ‘Hello, sis.’

Sydney Duncan was a tall woman, though slightly shorter then her brother. She was five years younger and had a head full of red-brown hair. Her bright brown eyes sparkled as she hugged her big brother tightly before turning on Mycroft.

‘And who is this?’ she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Mycroft stepped forward and took her hand. ‘Mycroft Holmes, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,’ he said and kissed her hand. Sydney blushed as he said, ‘Gregory has told me so much about you, I’m glad we could meet. I take it you’re Sydney, the elder twin by twenty-three minutes.’

Sydney’s eyes went wide and Greg smiled as she said, ‘How’d you know?’

Mycroft just smiled and stepped into the house.

Sydney’s husband, Louis, was a tall man, easily having three inches on Mycroft. He and Mycroft shook hands, resulting in Louis shaking his roughly afterwards. (Louis liked to show off his strength during handshakes... it seemed to Greg that he’d picked the wrong man to try and outdo).

Sydney and Louis had two boys, Pierre and Percy. Both boys were in their early teens and looked at Greg and Mycroft like they were aliens. It would take Mycroft all of forty-five minutes to have the boys hanging off his every word.

Once they heard _a minor position in the British Government,_ they practically stalked Mycroft, demanding he tell them if he was a spy. Greg began to wonder that himself. Smartly dressed, good with his hands, brilliant, secretive, dangerous... Mycroft Holmes could very well be a spy, he decided. That was until Mycroft raised an eyebrow at him, as if to say, _I’m not a spy, Gregory._

He just smiled.

Isabelle Weiss was identical to Sydney in every way. The only way to tell them apart was by their clothes, after they had introduced themselves. Even Greg had difficulty sometimes and he’d known them forty-three years. Only their mother could tell them apart.

But sweet, brilliant Mycroft could tell them apart perfectly and basically introduced Isabelle to herself.

‘Forty-three years-old, five feet seven inches tall, married thirteen years, you work as a banker and have three children, two girls and a boy, all under the age of twelve.’

Isabelle’s eyes went wide and she looked at her brother. ‘What else can he do?’ she said and cocked an eyebrow.

Greg burst out laughing and after that Isabelle and Mycroft became firm friends.

Isabelle’s husband, Jack, and her children Kate, Victoria and Vaughan soon fell under Mycroft’s charm and Greg rolled his eyes as he watched his family basically fall in love with Mycroft. He was so different to Sherlock. Greg could just imagine trying to introduce Sherlock to the family... they’d be running for the hills in minutes.

_Poor John_ , Greg mused as he watched Isabelle giggle at another one of Mycroft’s stories. Finally he had to throw an arm around his lover and kiss him roughly to mark his territory.

‘Yeah, yeah, he’s all yours,’ Isabelle said.

‘We get it, Greggie,’ Sydney added.

Greg blushed but didn’t let go. Mycroft grinned at him.

All too soon it was time to go. After a quick round of goodbyes, Sydney and Isabelle walked Greg and Mycroft to their car.

‘It was lovely meeting you, Mycroft,’ Isabelle said. ‘Too bad we didn’t meet thirteen years ago, I would have snapped you right up.’

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, Sydney giggled, and Greg rolled his eyes. ‘Izzy, please...’

‘Right, right, all yours, sorry,’ Isabelle said. She smiled and hugged her brother. ‘Stay in touch. And remember to tell us when the wedding is.’

‘Will do,’ Greg said.

While hugging Sydney, she said, ‘We haven’t told Mum and Dad yet, we thought you’d want to do that on your own... you know, the whole engaged-to-a-man-because-you’re-actually-gay-but-haven’t-told-them-yet-and-you’re-almost-bloody-fifty- _Gregory_.’

She paused to take a breath and Greg frowned at her. ‘Sydney, I’ll tell them... and I’m bisexual.’

Sydney snorted. ‘Yeah, right. Just make it quick so Mum and I can talk about it.’

‘Alright, I will,’ Greg said. There was no point in arguing with his sister... she’d win. ‘I’ll call them when we get home and drive up.’

Sydney grinned, kissed Mycroft on the cheek, and then they were driving away.

‘Your sisters are nice,’ Mycroft said.

‘Yeah,’ Greg sighed, ‘when they’re not making passes at you every two minutes.’

Mycroft chuckled. ‘Relax, Gregory. If memory serves, my brother is far more outlandish then either of your sisters.’

Lestrade grinned at that.

  
  


_**Greg’s Parents...** _

Greg was feeling even more nervous on the drive to his parents’ house. He’d called them two days before and his mother, Victoria, had insisted he come up. Greg had explained to Mycroft that his parents didn’t actually know he was gay.

‘Well, bisexual,’ Greg said. ‘I just never bother telling them, it didn’t seem important. They never asked...’

‘Gregory,’ Mycroft sighed.

‘I know, I’m sorry,’ Greg said. ‘I’ll tell them when we see them, I promise.’

So Mycroft refrained from kissing his fiancé as they strolled up the path to Greg’s parents’ house. Greg knocked and they waited patiently for the door to open.

Victoria Lestrade had grey hair (but Mycroft remembered from old photo’s that it had once been brown) and the same dark eyes as Greg. She grinned broadly and threw her arms around Greg.

‘Oh, Gregory, my dear boy. It’s been too long.’

Mycroft smiled. Seemed he wasn’t the only one to call him Gregory. Mycroft was beginning to wonder if on his birth certificate it just said _Greg._

Victoria’s eyes shifted from her son when they broke apart and settled on Mycroft.

‘And who’s this?’

‘Mycroft Holmes,’ Mycroft said, extending his hand. He took Victoria’s and kissed it gently. ‘A pleasure to meet you, Mrs Lestrade.’

Victoria blushed and Greg struggled to not roll his eyes.

‘Call me Victoria, dear,’ she said.

‘We better get inside, we don’t want your cats getting out,’ Mycroft said. ‘Two of them, I believe, an orange tabby and a black one.’

Victoria’s eyes went wide and Greg stepped into the house, forcing her back. She closed the door behind herself.

They were led into the living room where Victoria had laid out a tray of tea and biscuits. She offered a cup to Mycroft, who smiled and thanked her politely.

‘So, Mycroft, how’d you know I have two cats?’

‘Mother...’ Greg began but Mycroft waved away his interruption.

‘I saw four strands of orange hair and two strands of black on your right leg from where your cats have been rubbing against you. Seeing as how you have grey hair and your husband does as well, I deduced that you had cats, as dogs do not rub themselves against their owners. Also, I should add that you once had brown hair and your husband’s was red-brown.’

Victoria was silent for a second before she laughed. ‘That’s a very good eye you have, Mycroft. Please tell me how you knew of our hair colours before old age set in?’

‘Your daughters have red-brown hair, Gregory’s was brown before it turned grey, and I thought they must have got that from their parents. Also, Gregory has shown me photos.’

She laughed again. ‘I should have thought of that. Well done, Mycroft.’

They drank their tea in silence for a minute before Victoria asked, ‘So how do you know my son, Mycroft? And why is it that he brings you all the way out here to meet his parents?’

Mycroft glanced at Greg, who ran a hand through his hair. As he was left-handed, he did most things with his left hand (Mycroft knew from experience) and that hand just so happened to be sporting a certain ring that Mycroft had given him. Victoria’s eyes spotted it and went wide.

‘Greggie, is that a wedding ring?’

Greg froze and Victoria looked at Mycroft, who was rubbing his lips (purposely) with his left hand. She saw that he wore a matching ring.

‘Are you two married?’ Victoria demanded.

‘No, we’re engaged,’ Greg blurted.

Victoria was still all of 3.7 seconds (Mycroft counted) before she was on her feet and shouting.

‘Gregory Johnathan Lestrade, how could you not tell me you were engaged?! And I suppose you’re living together, and you didn’t tell me that either?! Honestly, I raised you better than this! How dare you not tell me you were so seriously involved with someone!’

Greg stared up at her, Mycroft chuckled.

‘Wait, you’re not upset that I’m marrying a man?’

‘What?’ Victoria said. ‘Of course not, Gregory, what a stupid thing to think. What’s wrong with being gay?’

‘N-Nothing,’ Greg said.

‘I’ve known you fancied boys since you were twelve-years-old,’ she said and smiled. ‘Ah, little Billy Mater. You two were so cute together.’

‘Billy Mater?’ Mycroft questioned with a raised eyebrow.

‘They played football together,’ Victoria explained. ‘It was so cute, the way Gregory smiled every time he talked about him.’

‘Mother,’ Greg sighed.

‘That’s quite endearing,’ Mycroft said and leaned over to kiss Greg softly on the lips.

‘Oh, you two are so cute,’ Victoria beamed. ‘Now tell me the story.’

‘Shouldn’t we wait for Dad?’ Greg asked. ‘Where is he?’

‘Went to get some beer,’ Victoria said and sat back down. ‘Now go on, tell me.’

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


The next hour was dedicated to Mycroft and Greg taking turns telling Victoria the story of how they met. They left out the whole Moriarty thing and Victoria commented every now and then.

‘You two are fools,’ she said when they’d finished. ‘You could have had seven years but stupid pride got in the way.’

‘It wasn’t pride,’ Mycroft said, ‘I wanted to protect my brother.’

‘Your brother is a grown man,’ Victoria said. ‘And it sounds like he’s found a man so you should be happy with yours.’

‘I am,’ Mycroft said with a note of whining to his voice.

Both Greg and Victoria laughed.

‘You’ll have to bring Sherlock and John up so we can meet before the wedding,’ Victoria said.

‘Mum, Sherlock’s insane,’ Greg said.

‘Gregory!’

‘It’s true,’ Mycroft said. ‘He’s brilliant, but has little understanding of the social norms. He can be quite... infuriating.’

‘I can manage,’ Victoria said. ‘I’ll just slap him across the head if he misbehaves.’

Greg and Mycroft both grinned, enjoying the image of Victoria Lestrade slapping Sherlock.

Greg’s dad still hadn’t returned and Victoria said, ‘Probably at the pub with Evan and Dylan. If you’d told us you were bringing someone important he’d be home.’ She scowled at her son.

‘Sorry, Mum.’

‘I’ll give him a call,’ Victoria said and went to the phone.

Mycroft leaned over and kissed Greg quickly, pushing his tongue into his fiancé’s mouth. Greg gasped and then groaned when Mycroft pulled back.

‘After all this, I need a cigarette,’ Mycroft said. ‘We should really quit.’

‘Go have one,’ Greg said. ‘You can smoke on the back patio, Dad’s friends do when they come over.’

‘Not coming?’ Mycroft asked, standing.

‘No, Mum doesn’t know I smoke,’ Greg said, ‘she’d kill me.’

Mycroft rolled his eyes. ‘Stop lying to your mother, _Greggie_.’

Greg swiped at him but Mycroft dove down for a quick kiss before leaving. He stepped through the glass doors, sliding them shut behind him, and pulled out his cigarettes. He lit one and blew smoke above his head.

He stood staring at the backyard, admiring the garden, before sitting down on one of the garden chairs. He flicked ash onto the grass.

‘Hello.’

It wasn’t often that Mycroft Holmes was startled but at that moment he jumped and dropped his cigarette. The man who had spoken chuckled as Mycroft bent to pick up his smoke before standing.

‘I take it that you’re Mr Lestrade?’

‘Jeffrey’s okay,’ Jeffrey said and held out his hand. He was a tall man, with the same silver hair as Greg, and the same build and height. But his eyes were lighter than his son’s, the same as his daughters’.

‘I’m Mycroft Holmes,’ Mycroft said, wishing his face wasn’t burning red.

‘And why exactly are you sitting in my backyard, Mr Holmes?’

‘Mycroft, please,’ Mycroft said before pausing. ‘I’m, uh, smoking.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Yes,’ Mycroft said, getting confused.

Jeffrey laughed. ‘Relax, Mycroft, I know who you are.’

‘You do?’ Mycroft asked with a raised eyebrow.

Greg’s father nodded. ‘Victoria told me when she called. Although why Greg felt the need to hide his sexuality is beyond me. He’s close to fifty.’

‘He was just worried you’d overreact,’ Mycroft said.

‘He’s an idiot sometimes,’ Jeffrey said. ‘I hear you’re a genius, Mycroft.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘My wife.’

‘Oh, right.’

‘Well?’

‘Technically, yes, I’m a genius. But having a high IQ isn’t everything. Real intelligence comes from life experiences.’

‘Good,’ Jeffrey said. ‘Then use that IQ and those life experiences to make sure my son stays safe. And treat him well, Mycroft.’

Mycroft nodded and watched as Jeffrey smiled and pulled out a cigarette packet. He lit a smoke quickly and said, ‘Don’t tell Victoria, she’d have my head.’

Mycroft smiled. He liked Jeffrey Lestrade. ‘Don’t worry, sir, you’re secret’s safe with me.’

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


After much berating from his parents (‘ _how could you not tell us, Gregory?’_ ), and many stories about Greg’s childhood, (‘ _he was just so adorable in that uniform!’ ‘Mum, I was twenty-four.’ ‘Still adorable!’_ Mycroft made a note to look for those photos), Greg and Mycroft had to leave. It was getting late and Mycroft had a business meeting in the morning. And Greg was not looking forward to facing Sherlock as another drugs bust was due.

Mycroft shook Jeffrey’s hand, kissed Victoria on the cheek, and went to the car. Greg hugged his parents and Victoria said, ‘Make sure you let us know when the wedding is.’

‘We’ll make sure you get an invitation,’ Greg said, ‘but we’ll have you stay sometime next month, maybe for a week.’

Jeffrey clapped his son on the shoulder. ‘I’m glad that he makes you happy, Greg.’

Greg smiled and turned to look at Mycroft, who smiled back. ‘Me too.’


	21. Telling Part III

_**Mycroft’s Parents...** _

__

‘Mummy wants you to visit,’ Sherlock told Mycroft one night at Baker Street. John had invited him and Greg over for dinner and the four were sitting in the living room.

‘Why?’ Mycroft asked, sipping his wine.

Sherlock smirked. ‘I may have told her about a certain DI you proposed to.’

Mycroft’s eyes swivelled to his brother. ‘What?’

Sherlock feigned innocence. ‘What’s wrong? Don’t you want Mummy and Father to meet Gregory?’

‘Sherlock...’ John warned but it was too late.

‘Very well,’ Mycroft said, ‘I’ll inform Mummy that we’re coming for a visit.’ He sipped from his glass.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. ‘There’s no way you’re leaving it at that, Mycroft.’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Mycroft said. Now it was his turn to act innocent.

‘What are you planning?’ Sherlock demanded.

‘Nothing,’ Mycroft said, ‘what on Earth would make you think I’m planning something, little brother?’

Greg and John turned to look at Sherlock, both highly amused at the unfolding situation.

‘Thirty-six years of being your brother tells me that your mind is working on revenge,’ Sherlock said.

‘It won’t be thirty-six years until July, brother. You’re off by three months.’

Sherlock glared at him.

Mycroft just smiled politely and refused to say anything. Sherlock annoyed him all night, even going as far to try and pin his brother to the floor. Greg had never seen Mycroft move so fast and it was a clear message to all that Mycroft was much stronger then he looked.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Greg realised Mycroft _had_ been planning something when Sherlock stormed into his office the next morning.

‘Your infuriating fiancé!’ Sherlock shouted.

But Greg was used to this and Sherlock’s tone neither frightened nor alarmed him. He didn’t look up from his report as he asked, ‘What’s he done?’

‘He told my parents that I’m in a serious relationship with a man!’ Sherlock shouted.

‘And?’

‘I hadn’t exactly come out to my parents! Mummy was furious to learn I’d been lying to her, especially since she sees everything! And now they want to meet John!’

‘So?’

‘So? I have no wish for my parents to interfere with my love life, Lestrade!’

‘I’m sure John will be fine.’

‘Of course he will!’ Sherlock shouted. ‘It’s me I’m worried about!’

Finally Greg looked up, dropping his pen and messaging his left hand. It always cramped after four hours of writing.

‘What’s the problem?’ he asked. ‘They already know Mycroft’s gay and they’re fine, why would they be upset that you are?’

‘Mycroft is bisexual, for your information, and so am I!’ Sherlock snapped, his anger making him more reliant on facts.

Greg rolled his eyes.

‘And they don’t care... they’re just annoyed that I didn’t tell them. They’re all about the truth, my parents. And they’ll have questions, and Mummy will want to know if I plan to marry John seeing as how Mycroft’s settling down. And then there will be the grandchild talk, and they won’t approve of where I live, and they’ll want to come _visit_!’ Sherlock tugged at his hair and Greg stared at him.

‘Sherlock, calm down.’

‘I can’t calm down, you calm down!’

Greg smirked. ‘You’re not making any sense.’

Sherlock poked his tongue out at Greg and dropped to sit on the DI’s couch, curling in on himself. Greg chuckled and picked up his pen.

‘Sherlock, your parents would have met John eventually. It’s not like you two are ever going to break up.’

‘You don’t know that,’ Sherlock muttered.

‘I do,’ Greg said. ‘Because I know how John feels. And as crazy, rude, stubborn–’

‘Hey!’ Sherlock interjected.

‘– idiotic and annoying you can be, he loves you. I mean, he killed someone to save you the first night you met.’ Sherlock looked up at him. ‘Yes, I know that it was John who shot the cabbie. I’m not an idiot.’

‘I’m not the marrying type,’ Sherlock confessed. ‘I don’t want to tell Mummy that.’

‘You’d be surprised how much you’re willing to change for the person you love,’ Greg said, playing with the ring on his left hand, ‘and how much you change without realising it.’

Sherlock just huffed and turned so his back was facing Greg. He spent the day at Scotland Yard, following Lestrade everywhere he went. He only spoke when he had fears about John meeting his parents, and Greg was there to talk it over with him. He couldn’t believe that Sherlock had come to him for comfort. But it made him smile all the same.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


The drive to and from Holmes Manor was long, disturbing, dangerous, and highly entertaining. Mycroft drove, with Greg in the passenger seat and Sherlock and John in the back. Sherlock sulked for an hour until he spotted cows from his window. He pressed his face up against the glass, rattling off facts about the animal. He was like a ten-year-old.

John rolled his eyes. ‘Honestly, you don’t know the Earth revolves around the sun but you remember that cows have four stomachs?’

‘Four stomachs is interesting, John,’ Sherlock retorted. ‘A big ball of matter swirling around another big ball of matter for a billion years isn’t interesting in the least.’

John rolled his eyes again.

The first fight came about the music. Mycroft and Sherlock wanted to play classical music, which they both had on their iPods. But Greg and John fought tooth and nail to have some proper music they could rock out to. When Mycroft tried to argue that classical music came first, therefore _was_ proper music, Greg kissed him lightly. A minute later they were rocking out to _The Offspring_ , Greg and John singing along with Dexter Holland to _Spare Me The Details._

‘You are completely useless,’ Sherlock grumbled at his brother.

But when _Exogenesis: Symphony Pt 1: Overture_ by _Muse_ started playing, even Sherlock found himself nodding along. Mycroft commented that he didn’t know _Muse_ used orchestras and said he’d have to ask Matthew Bellamy about that the next time they spoke. This, of course, had Greg shouting at him, ‘YOU KNOW MATT BELLAMY?’ Soon a lunch was arranged and Greg and John giggled like school girls.

‘Do you know any other rock stars?’ Greg asked. Despite his age, most of the bands he loved had only been together twenty or fewer years (this didn’t include _AC/DC, The Beatles,_ or the classic old bands). His favourites were _Green Day_ , _My Chemical Romance_ , _The Offspring_ and an Australian band called _The Living End._

‘I met the members of the last band you mentioned when I was in Australia a few months ago,’ Mycroft said, ‘their Prime Minister is a fan. Of course I’ve met _Green Day_. Billie Joe Armstrong is good looking man and a talented musician.’

Greg frowned at him.

Mycroft backtracked quickly. ‘Not that he’s as good looking as you, love. And he’s a little young for me, and married, and clearly not my type at all... and remember, he’s happily married and, er, lives in a different country and isn’t anywhere near as handsome as you... has children...’

John burst out laughing and even Sherlock smiled.

‘Calm down, Mycroft,’ Greg said. ‘We’re all allowed to fantasise about musicians.’

It was Mycroft’s turn to frown. ‘What musicians are you fantasising about?’ he demanded.

‘We’re stopping for junk food!’ Greg shouted with a grin.

John giggled.

The trip was fast turning into a massive game with the four adults behaving like teenagers. Well... can you classify Sherlock Holmes as an adult?

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


John and Sherlock ended up having a food fight in the back. And as much as Mycroft yelled, it did little to stop them. Crisps flew in all directions and Greg ate them off his lap. When a muffin hit him in the side of the head he shouted, ‘Right you two, pack it in! Sit down before I come back there and kick both your arses!’

The couple fell back into their seats, blushing and picking food off themselves. It all started again when Greg threw a handful of crisps back at them.

Mycroft sighed. ‘I’m surrounded by children.’ And then he was hit by a Mars Bar and stopped the car so he could retaliate.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


They had to stop again because all the food was inedible. Greg made sure he was alone when he bought a packet of cigarettes. The last thing he needed was Mycroft and Sherlock nicking them.

John had to pull Sherlock away from the hot dogs, where he was naming all the things that were in a hot dog that made you violently ill. He seriously scarred two ten-year-olds who screamed for their mothers, who scowled at Sherlock.

Mycroft bought more food and Sherlock downed three packets of crisps and two Mars Bars before they got back to the car. He was violently ill five minutes later, forcing Mycroft to stop the car so he could rush out and throw up on the side of the road. Mycroft sat going through his iPod, John rubbed Sherlock’s back, and Greg slipped behind a tree to smoke.

They headed off again and Sherlock claimed he wanted a muffin. Everybody refused and he pouted for twenty minutes, but not before saying that Greg had a packet of cigarettes. Mycroft managed to keep the car straight as he assaulted his boyfriend, pulling the packet free. He lit one in triumph and John giggled, Greg glared, and Sherlock rubbed his eyes.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Half-an-hour later Sherlock felt batter and nicked a cigarette. Greg groaned, but was happy he could smoke in the car. John made them wind down all the windows and they sang loudly to _Placebo,_ their voices washed out by the wind.

Greg asked John if he’d ever smoked, to which he replied he used to constantly. Sherlock stared at him and John said, ‘I haven’t in five years... well, maybe once or twice.’

Sherlock continued to stare at John, Greg chuckled, and Mycroft puffed on his cigarette.

Another food fight began when Greg refused to give Sherlock a cigarette. Sherlock tore open four bags of crisps and two bags of popcorn, showering them all in more food. Greg handed over his cigarettes.

They ate off their laps, Mycroft refusing to stop again.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


They reached Holmes Manor just after lunch and Mycroft parked to the right of the house. They all climbed out and looked each other over, wiping sauce, crisps and chocolate from their clothes.

Finally they walked up to the main house and Mycroft knocked. They were let in by a butler, whom Mycroft called Niles (both Greg and John found this highly amusing and refused to explain it to Mycroft and Sherlock). They were led to the sitting room and told to wait.

The house was massive and both Greg and John felt out of place. They’d grown up in small houses, with middle-class parents. They weren’t used to fancy couches and expensive bookcases. Despite living in what could only be described as a toxic waste (of his own accord), Sherlock was at ease in the luxury. He leaned back and tapped his leg.

The door behind them opened and the group turned to see two very poshly dressed but smiling people enter. The woman was as tall as Greg, with curly dark hair, going grey, and bright blue eyes. Her husband was as tall as Mycroft and had the same thinning brown hair and nose, his eyes a dark shade of brown.

‘Boys!’ Mrs Holmes said and the brothers stood to hug her. She ruffled Sherlock’s hair. ‘You need a haircut, Lockie.’

‘Yes, Mummy,’ Sherlock said.

John’s eyes went wide. Since when did Sherlock agree to anything anyone else suggested?

‘Father,’ Mycroft said and shook his dad’s hand.

Mr Holmes smiled. ‘How’s politics treating you, my boy?’

‘As boring as ever, Father,’ Mycroft answered.

Mr Holmes chuckled. ‘I highly doubt that,’ he said. He glanced over Sherlock. ‘You are far too thin, Sherlock. Isn’t your boyfriend feeding you?’

Sherlock glared at his brother.

‘Don’t start fighting, Lockie,’ Mrs Holmes said. She turned to face Greg and John, who had stood at their arrival. ‘Hello there.’

John went first, shaking Mrs Holmes hand. ‘John Watson, ma’am.’

‘Please call me Meghan, John,’ she smiled.

‘Call me Siger,’ Mr Holmes said as he shook John’s hand.

Both John and Greg giggled internally. Seemed all Holmes men had weird names.

‘Gregory Lestrade, pleased to meet you,’ Greg said. He leaned down and kissed Meghan’s hand, copying Mycroft’s actions when he’d met Greg’s mother.

Meghan smiled. ‘You’ve picked a charmer, Mycroft,’ she said. Greg didn’t think to ask how she knew he was with Mycroft. Mycroft grinned. ‘Both of you have picked such handsome men.’

The brothers blushed and Greg and John smiled.

‘Now, let’s have lunch,’ Siger said. ‘I have business to attend to later on so unfortunately I won’t be joining you for dinner.’

‘Honestly, Siger,’ Meghan sighed. ‘You’re retired.’

‘My business never rests, darling,’ he said and gave her a kiss.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


It was a disaster for Mycroft and Sherlock. They had to endure endless stories about their childhood (and many fights) and all the details Greg and John could give the parents on their sons. More than once one of them would glare at their sons over their behaviour.

‘Really, Sherlock, not sleeping for four days? Sweetie, why would you do that?’

‘Mycroft, what have you got against a good meal? You are not fat, son.’

‘Sherlock, what took you so long to snatch John up?’

‘Five years, Mycroft, really? Are you sure you’re a genius?’

Needless to say, the Holmes parents were sharp. Their father was intelligent but they got their deductive skills from their mother. She wasn’t as brilliant as Sherlock, or Mycroft, but was far smarter than Greg and John could ever hope to be.

After lunch, they went for a tour of the house and later the grounds. Mycroft seemed determined to make Greg suffer and dragged him into the stables (yes, they had horses).

‘Mycroft?’ Greg questioned.

Mycroft undid his fiancé’spants. He was sucking Greg off before the DI could stop him. His mouth moved with precision and Greg was left a gaping mess, coming in less than two minutes. Mycroft cleaned him up, did up his pants, smirked, and left. It took Greg ten minutes to compose himself and when he and Mycroft met up with Sherlock and John, Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Night fell and suddenly they were saying goodbye. Siger had apologised and left earlier. Meghan smiled at her sons.

‘Don’t be strangers, and I look forward to the wedding, Mycroft.’

‘We’ll visit more often, Mummy,’ Mycroft said and leaned forward to kiss her cheek.

‘It was a pleasure meeting you, Meghan,’ Greg said and kissed her hand again.

‘You are a sweetheart, Gregory,’ Meghan smiled.

Greg and Mycroft left Sherlock and John to say their goodbyes, heading back to the car.

‘I’m getting you back for what you did in the stables,’ Greg growled.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Mycroft said pleasantly, a smug look plastered across his face.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


The music started again as soon as they turned out of the driveway. Greg had nicked Mycroft’s iPod and it was in the boot, under the spare tire. Mycroft glared at his fiancé but smiled and started singing along to _High School Never Ends_ by _Bowling For Soup_ after Greg looped it twenty times.

Sherlock had a mini melt down when the song started again and they all agreed never to loop a song as Sherlock’s violent outburst had really terrified them.

Dipping his fingers in yoghurt, Sherlock scrawled a note about Mycroft loving penis’ on the window and Mycroft shouted at him for twenty minutes, making Sherlock grin. John pulled out a tissue and cleaned it, flicking Sherlock in the ear. He pouted for the next hour.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Greg and John discussed all their high school crushes and Greg was surprised to realise he’d liked more boys than girls. Mycroft just chuckled.

Mycroft and Sherlock were asked about their high school crushes. They both remained silent and the subject was changed.

They discussed their best Christmas presents. Greg’s was when he was twelve; a police uniform with a plastic bobby hat. Mycroft mused that he wished DI’s wore uniforms. Sherlock thumped his head against the sticky window and John laughed. He planned to buy Greg a costume for Mycroft’s next birthday.

John’s was a guitar. He didn’t play any more, but had been fascinated as a thirteen-year-old. And then his finger’s had hurt and he’d given up. It was in his parents’ house, stuffed in the attic somewhere.

Mycroft’s was an encyclopaedia. They all agreed that was depressingly boring. So Mycroft changed his answer to Greg waking him up with breakfast in bed on Christmas day... naked.

Sherlock thumped his head against the window. John laughed.

Sherlock’s was a small book on tobacco he’d received from John the first Christmas they’d known each other. John kissed him passionately, Greg grinned, and Mycroft rolled his eyes. ‘Who knew Sherlock Holmes was such a romantic?’ Greg said

Sherlock pouted for the next ten minutes.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


They talked about favourite foods (Greg’s was Thai, John’s was pizza, Mycroft’s was some fancy dish Greg couldn’t pronounce and Sherlock’s was... Sherlock had fallen asleep).

They all realised he was faking sleep when he somehow managed to create an experiment in the back seat with no one noticing that forced them to pull the car over. Dust exploded everywhere and Sherlock cried in triumph... and then the smell hit them.

Nobody could stand the smell and it clung to Sherlock, forcing John to buy a heap of water and soap, giving his boyfriend’s body and clothes a good scrub in a service station bathroom. Mycroft bought a heap of air fresheners and deodorant. He sprayed the car as Greg rolled down the windows, leaving the doors open to air it out.

When they were done, Greg pushed Mycroft against the back wall of the service station.

‘Gregory–’ Mycroft warned but Greg unzipped him and grabbed his cock. He licked at the tip, teasing with his exceptionally talented tongue. Mycroft groaned and rocked forward, only to have Greg pull away. ‘Please don’t... tease... me...’ Mycroft groaned.

Greg took him fully before pulling back. He did it again and again, forcing Mycroft to whimper.

‘Gregory?’

‘Yes, Mycroft?’

‘Please,’ Mycroft begged.

‘Don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Greg said and ran his tongue along Mycroft’s shaft, thumbing the tip.

‘God, you’re such a tease,’ Mycroft gasped.

‘I am,’ Greg said. ‘What else am I?’

‘Incredibly handsome.’

‘And?’

‘Amazing in bed.’

‘And?’ Greg asked again.

‘Er, a great police officer?’ Mycroft ventured.

‘Keep trying,’ Greg said, licking the pre-cum from the tip of Mycroft’s pick.

‘Much better looking than Billie Joe Armstrong,’ Mycroft gasped.

Greg grinned. ‘That’s more like it.’

‘Greg, please,’ Mycroft gestured at himself.

Greg slid his mouth over Mycroft’s cock and sucked furiously, making Mycroft grab his hair. He twisted his fingers through the grey stands, moaning and biting his lips. Soon Mycroft was coming and Greg swallowed it all, pulling Mycroft’s handkerchief from his trouser pockets. He mopped Mycroft up and stood.

‘You’re such a tease, Gregory,’ Mycroft said and did himself up.

‘And you love it,’ Greg grinned and kissed Mycroft.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


It was well into the early hours of the morning before the car was fit for human life. Greg called work to say he’d be in late, John doing the same. Sherlock didn’t have a proper job and Mycroft said they’d the government would wait for him... nobody doubted that.

Greg and John tried to play I-Spy but Mycroft and Sherlock kept jumping in with the correct answers. They gave up and played Truth or Dare, both revealing way too much about their sex lives. Greg giggled hysterically when he heard that Sherlock had a sensitive left ear. John doubled over laughing when he heard about Mycroft’s love of strawberry jam.

‘We don’t need to hear this,’ Mycroft moaned.

‘I’m puncturing my ears as soon as I find something sharp,’ Sherlock groaned.

Greg, Sherlock and Mycroft smoked consistently, and even John had a couple. He didn’t smoke as often as the others and it turned Sherlock on unbelievably quickly. He kept rubbing John’s leg and licking his lips. Finally Mycroft had to pull over at yet another service station to stop Sherlock humping his boyfriend on the back seat. Sherlock and John jumped out of the car as soon as it stopped, disappearing around the back.

‘My brother is disgusting,’ Mycroft noted.

‘Says the man who got a blow job out the back of a service station two hours ago,’ Greg commented.

Mycroft chuckled. ‘There’s a difference,’ he said.

‘And that would be?’

‘I was the one getting the blow job.’

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


The music was back and Mycroft pouted, Greg driving. They were listening to _Muse_ and Greg and John discussed their upcoming lunch with the lead singer, who would be bringing his fiancé and baby son. While they were busy Mycroft switched Greg’s iPod for Sherlock’s and dropped Greg’s down the front of his trousers.

‘Don’t think I won’t go down there,’ Greg warned.

‘Ah, but you’re driving,’ Mycroft smirked.

Greg reached over and grabbed him. Mycroft gasped, John giggled, and Sherlock covered his eyes. After a minute of fondling, Greg extracted his iPod and put it back on.

‘You don’t play fair, Inspector,’ Mycroft said.

‘But I play well,’ Greg retorted.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


John took over driving when it became clear Greg was tired. He went into the back with Sherlock, who refused to move, and Mycroft went in the passenger seat. He and John talked about cars for half-an-hour and Greg and Sherlock exchanged a look; boring.

The trip was going far longer then they’d anticipated but it didn’t matter; it was amazingly fun and they all agreed to do it again.

Greg began flicking bits of food at Sherlock, who tried to ignore it. John and Mycroft blabbered on about cars and Sherlock grew more irritated.

When a large piece of pie hit him, Sherlock launched himself at Greg. The resulting fight forced John to pull over and Greg’s smokes were crushed. This caused them all to cry and they stopped for more, Mycroft climbing into the back with Greg after it was voted that Greg and Sherlock could not be trusted alone.

Greg and Mycroft started making out and Sherlock pouted. John tried to concentrate on driving. Eventually Greg grew too hard and swapped with John. Mycroft promised to finish later.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Finally, and with only three food throwing related incidents, Greg pulled up in front of Baker Street. Sherlock was half asleep in the back, having swapped with Mycroft while Greg was driving because Greg couldn’t concentrate with chocolate in his eyes. John coaxed him out of the car and half dragged him into 221B, thanking Greg and Mycroft.

Greg drove to their flat, parking in the underground facility. Mycroft checked his Blackberry as they headed upstairs.

‘Almost six,’ Greg groaned with a glance at his watch. ‘I’ve gotta be at work in an hour.’

‘Call in sick,’ Mycroft said and wrapped his arms around Greg.

‘I can’t,’ he sighed, ‘reports and whatnot.’

Mycroft nuzzled his neck.

‘I think I’m gonna fall asleep right here,’ Greg yawned.

‘I’ll think of something to keep you up,’ Mycroft smiled. He ran his tongue along Greg’s neck, making him groan.

They were kissing fiercely as they fell into the flat. Greg tripped over and fell back, taking Mycroft with him. They hit the floor and groaned, turning to look at each other.

‘I’m dying,’ Greg complained, rubbing the back of his head.

‘Are not,’ Mycroft laughed. He leaned over and kissed Greg softly.

‘I’m glad I met your parents,’ Greg said.

‘Me too.’

‘We have to start planning,’ Greg said, trying to think. It was difficult when Mycroft was nipping at his neck.

‘Anthea can help,’ Mycroft muttered. ‘Oh, and Gregory?’

‘Mm?’

Mycroft leaned back to look him in the eye. He grinned wickedly.

‘What?’

‘Get the jam.’


	22. Planning

Greg yawned and leaned back. He was sitting at the dining table, sheets spread out in front of him. There were lists of caterers, guests, food, places, and everything else you needed for a wedding printed in neat little writing. But it was sending Greg insane.

Anthea raced about like the Energiser Bunny, tapping at her Blackberry, flipping through information, sipping her coffee, and talking to Mycroft all at the same time.

Greg rubbed his eyes.

‘Go have a smoke, love,’ Mycroft told him and pulled off his reading glasses. They were a new addition and Greg found Mycroft incredibly attractive with them on. It took all his strength not to jump his fiancé every time he wore them. The stubble he’d let grow over the past two days (where Anthea had managed to clear his schedule) wasn’t helping either.

‘I’m trying to quit,’ Greg groaned.

‘You’ve been trying to quite for ten years,’ Mycroft mused.

‘And you’re not helping!’ Greg snapped.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and Greg sighed.

‘No, you’re right, a fag would help me calm down.’

Mycroft chuckled. ‘Nice phrase, love. Now go, Anthea and I can manage for a few minutes without you.’

Anthea grinned at him and Greg wondered if she was high as he grabbed his jacket and headed out.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Greg lit his cigarette and took a deep drag. Already it was calming him down and he blinked as he watched people walk by. His mobile vibrated and Greg pulled it out, hoping there hadn’t been a murder.

He smiled when he saw the caller ID: _Doctor McLovin’._ John had swiped his phone at their last get together and Greg hadn’t bothered changing it yet. Sherlock was still listed as _Sexy Sod_ with Mycroft as _Umbrella Loving Kidnapper._

Sherlock had got involved and now Donovan was _Frizzy Head_ and Anderson _IQ of a Rock._ He would later say that was an insult to rocks. Sherlock wasn’t the most imaginative prankster.

‘Evening, John,’ Greg answered.

‘ _Hey, Greg, how’s the planning?_ ’

‘Terrible,’ Greg admitted. ‘I reckon Mycroft’s assistant is on crack. She’s been running around like a kid on sugar.’

John chuckled. ‘ _You’ll have to perform a drugs bust on her flat. Maybe then you can leave Sherlock alone._ ’

‘I only do it ’cause I love him.’

‘ _Yeah, yeah,_ ’ John replied. ‘ _Listen, I was talking to Dimmock yesterday and we realised you and Mycroft never had an engagement party. So we thought we’d throw something small at my place. You up for it?_ ’

‘Yeah, sounds good,’ Greg said. ‘I could use a night off.’

‘ _It’ll only be you, me, Mycroft, Sherlock and Dimmock. Oh, and Mike asked that you invite... whatever her name is. He’s been leering at her every time Mycroft brings her ’round Scotland Yard._ ’

Greg laughed. ‘Yeah, alright, I’ll ask. Not sure what she does in her spare time. Warn Michael that she might be seeing her Blackberry, she’s always on the bloody thing.’

‘ _Will do,_ ’ John said with a chuckle. ‘ _Though the world would probably end if she put it down._ ’

‘I have the suspicion you’re right.’

‘ _Okay, if there are no murders or international incidents, be at 221B this Friday night around six._ ’

‘Alright. Should we bring anything?’

‘ _Nah, we’re all good. We’ll order a heap of unhealthy food, watch crappy TV, and party all night long._ ’

‘Yeah right,’ Greg chuckled. He was becoming more and more aware with every passing day that he wasn’t as young as he used to be. It startled him to realise that he was three years older than Mycroft, eight years older than John and _thirteen years_ older than Sherlock. ‘I’ll probably see you before then,’ Greg continued. ‘Thanks, John.’

‘ _No worries_ ,’ John said and hung up.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


With Greg out of the way, Mycroft and Anthea had got more work done. They’d finally settled on a place, date and the menu. All that was left was to finish the guest list and find someone to officiate. When Anthea volunteered, Mycroft hugged her tightly, causing both of them to blush.

‘Thank you sir,’ was all she could say before rushing from the room, eyes tearing up.

‘I don’t understand,’ Mycroft admitted.

Greg just laughed. 

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Anthea accepted Greg’s offer of a night at 221B Baker Street and they turned up promptly at two minutes to six. There were no murders, as of yet, and no international incidents, as of yet, so John let them in at exactly six o’clock.

Sherlock was scowling on the couch, dressed as usual in a well-fitting suit. Dimmock was casually dressed in jeans and a jacket and he blushed when he saw Anthea. She too turned red and Greg realised she actually fancied him. He smiled, determined to get them together.

They ordered unhealthy food including Thai, Chinese, Pizza, burgers and fries, passing around boxes and plates so everyone got some of everything. They drank beer, wine and soft drinks, laughing, chatting and generally having a good time.

John put on DVD’s of Doctor Who. Greg and John agreed that it was their favourite show and the scowl on Sherlock’s face when the theme music started was priceless. Arguments soon started about who was the best Doctor, the best companion, the best and worst alien.

‘David Tennant!’ shouted Greg. He had allowed himself a few beers and was tipsy. He asked Mycroft to stop him if he got too out of hand. ‘The Tenth Doctor was the best, no question.’

‘No, Tom Baker!’ John argued back. ‘You can’t beat old school Doctor Who!’

‘I like Matt Smith,’ Dimmock interjected.

‘No!’ Greg and John shouted and showered the DI in empty boxes.

‘I love the Daleks,’ Anthea said, looking up from her Blackberry.

‘Me too,’ Dimmock said hurriedly.

Sherlock rolled her eyes. ‘Just kiss her, you idiot.’

Mike turned an alarming shade of red which increased when Anthea leaned forward and kissed him. They all hooted and Sherlock laughed.

They continued into the early hours of the morning, only ending when Dimmock and Anthea began to nod off. John raised his beer and said, ‘To Gregory and Mycroft. They waited seven years, which is fucking ridiculous, but they finally got their heads out of their arses! So cheers to them, they make a lovely couple!’

‘Agreed!’ the others shouted.

Everybody crashed at 221B. Sherlock and John took the couch, Anthea and Dimmock the spare room, and Greg and Mycroft stayed in John and Sherlock’s room. The couple kissed fiercely and were unclothed in minutes.

‘Mycroft!’ Greg gasped as his lover licked at his cock, running nimble fingers over one of his nipples.

‘I’m glad you’ve stopped attributing everything to God,’ Mycroft chuckled.

Greg pulled him up so they could lock lips and soon Mycroft was rummaging through a draw where he found a box of condoms and half empty bottle of lube.

‘This is _so_ not a good idea,’ Greg giggled.

‘And yet you’re not stopping me,’ Mycroft laughed.

They got heated quickly and Mycroft rolled the condom onto Greg’s erect cock. There was a knock on the door and they hurriedly covered themselves.

‘Yes?’ Mycroft called, his face flushed.

The door opened and John and Dimmock stood there, both burning red. Mycroft tossed them the condom box and lube, making sure he took another condom so he could fuck Greg later. John closed the door and Mycroft went back to kissing Greg.

‘Oh my God, that was so embarrassing,’ Greg moaned.

He didn’t have long to think about that as Mycroft straddled him and slid Greg’s cock into his arse. He moved up and down, making Greg whimper and clutch his hips tightly.

‘You must cut your nails,’ Mycroft gasped, ‘you’re going to leave scars.’

Greg replied with a gasp and gripped tighter as he slid in and out of his lover.

‘My-Mycroft,’ he moaned as he stroked Mycroft’s cock. He looked up to see Mycroft watching him, his face a mask of pleasure.

‘I’ll never stop loving you,’ Mycroft moaned.

‘I love you too,’ Greg replied.

They moved quicker, their groans getting louder. The bed thumped against the wall but neither cared. They both came with loud gasps and Mycroft rolled off, lying next to Greg and hugging him tightly.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


‘What are we going to use for lubrication?’ Greg asked as they got heated again at nine the morning.

Mycroft replied by licking his fingers and spreading saliva all over his wrapped cock.

Greg giggled and Mycroft kissed him.


	23. The Marriage of Gregory Lestrade and Mycroft Holmes

The wedding crept up on Greg and suddenly he found himself in a room with Michael Dimmock and John Watson, smoothing down his jet black suit. The dark red shirt went perfectly and Greg smiled. Mycroft had insisted he didn’t wear a tie, claiming he looked better without one.

There was a knock on the door and Greg turned to see Sherlock. He was wearing a navy blue suit and the purple silk shirt that Greg knew was John’s favourite. Even Greg had to admit that he looked good in it.

Sherlock said, ‘May I have a word with the groom?’

John and Dimmock left quickly and Sherlock shut the door.

‘Sherlock?’

‘I just want to say thank you,’ Sherlock said and Greg had a flash back to the first time Sherlock had crashed on his couch, all those years ago. ‘You make my brother happy, I’ve never seen him so... well, you complete him, Greg. I want to thank you for that.’

And then he stepped forward and hugged Greg tightly. Greg was at a loss for words and patted the consulting detective’s back.

They broke apart and Sherlock reached into his pockets, producing two bottles of beer and a packet of cigarettes. ( _Where the hell had he hidden them_? Greg thought.)

‘A little celebration?’ Sherlock said with a glint in his eyes.

Greg laughed.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


He sprayed himself with deodorant after Sherlock left, trying to hide the smell of tobacco and beer. He smoothed down his jacket when there was another knock on the door.

Again Greg turned but this time the other Holmes entered, shutting and locking the door behind him. Mycroft was looking good in a pin-striped suit and baby blue silk shirt that highlighted his eyes. He looked similar to the Tenth Doctor but Greg was certain that Mycroft was handsomer.

‘Mycroft, we’re not supposed to see each other before the wedding,’ Greg tutted.

Mycroft said, ‘It’s the groom and bride who aren’t supposed to see each other.’

‘Same difference,’ Greg said as Mycroft crossed the room and enveloped him in a hug. He kissed down his neck. ‘My-Mycroft.’

‘Have you been smoking?’ Mycroft asked. ‘And drinking?’

‘Yes,’ Greg admitted.

Mycroft chuckled. He continued to kiss Greg’s neck.

‘Mycroft,’ Greg groaned.

‘Mm?’ Mycroft purred.

‘Stop that,’ he said as Mycroft slid a hand to cup his arse.

‘Why?’

‘Be-because,’ Greg groaned as Mycroft ran his tongue along his neck.

‘No, I don’t think I will,’ he said.

‘Why?’

He pulled back to look at his lover. ‘Because I’m about to marry you and I want to fuck you right here, right now. It’s the last chance I’ll get to fuck my fiancé.’

That was all it took for Greg to get naked. Mycroft stayed in his suit, letting his trousers and boxers fall around his ankles. He didn’t have a condom or lube but Greg didn’t care as he bent over a table. Mycroft lathered his cock in saliva and entered his soon-to-be-husband quickly.

‘Oh God!’ Greg groaned as Mycroft thrust in and out.

‘There’s that God person again,’ Mycroft chuckled from behind him.

‘F-fuck you,’ Greg moaned.

‘No, I think I’ll fuck you,’ Mycroft said.

All words stopped there, except the occasional grunt of a name, as Mycroft hit Greg’s prostate each time. He whimpered and Mycroft leaned around to stroke him.

Soon they were both coming and Mycroft had to stoop to stop them from ruining each other’s clothing. After a quick spot check to make sure there were no stains, both fixed themselves up and shared a kiss.

There was a knock on the door and Sherlock strolled in.

‘Stop humping each other and get out here,’ he said before leaving.

Greg and Mycroft chuckled before sharing another kiss.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


It was a beautiful ceremony and all those involved shed a silent tear (or in Greg’s mum’s case, a massive breakdown in which she proclaimed she was so happy her eldest child wasn’t going to die alone. And she wanted more grandchildren. It was met with roars of agreement).

Greg stood proudly in front of Mycroft with John and Dimmock behind him. Sherlock was grinning broadly behind his older brother, the sociopath seeming not to care that he was finally showing emotion to a group of fifty.

Anthea pronounced them husband and... well, husband, and they shared a light kiss that threatened to turn into something more if Greg didn’t pull away. Mycroft groaned and people laughed.

The party was epic, with a lot of guests getting drunk on expensive wine. A number of couples disappeared to shag in various corners of the function centre (Greg and Mycroft had their first shag as a married couple beneath a table in the lobby. John and Sherlock went into the elevator, pulling the emergency stop. Mechanics were called and found a very embarrassed couple smoothing down their clothes two hours later. Anthea and Dimmock went at it in the bathrooms, causing the news to spread like wild fire amongst the guests).

Meghan Holmes and Victoria Lestrade shared memories of their sons’ childhoods while Siger Holmes and Jeffrey Lestrade talked politics. Pierre and Percy Duncan followed their new uncle around, trying to catch him doing something spy-like. Their efforts were increased when Mycroft managed to lose then several times.

Sydney Duncan and Isabelle Weiss both kissed Mycroft before the night was over, Sydney on the dance floor and Isabelle at their table. Mycroft came away highly embarrassed, the twins laughing and congratulating Greg on bagging a good kisser. Greg basically dry humped his new husband during their speeches to warn off any future attackers.

Isabelle’s kids, Kate, Victoria and Vaughan, started a food fight that Sherlock continued and Mycroft ended, proving he was the champion of food fighting by coming out of it unscathed but managing to hit a number of people with cake. Everybody, except Mycroft, was covered in cake and chips by the end of the night and laughing hysterically.

They danced, and shagged, and kissed, and held each other, and admitted to each other that they’d never been happier in their lives. And then the wedding ended and they farewelled all the guests.

Mycroft’s driver, who had attended the wedding and party but stayed sober, pulled around the car and put the many gifts in the back. Mycroft and Greg were both drunk and were half naked by the time they got back to their flat. They were flying off to Australia the next afternoon.

They fucked in the kitchen, in Mycroft’s study, in the spare room and shower and bedroom. Both were exhausted and beyond speech as they reached the airport. A hung over Sherlock and John were there to bid them farewell and Mycroft and Greg sat in first class, sipping cold drinks and smiling stupidly at each other.


	24. The Honeymoon of Gregory Lestrade and Mycroft Holmes

As Mycroft had said, Australia was beautiful. Greg marvelled at the Sydney Harbour Bridge as they were driven through the city in a private car. It was March, autumn in Australia, and despite that it was amazingly hot. It reached thirty-two degrees by two o’clock and Greg pulled at his shirt.

‘Why’s it so hot?’ he complained.

‘It’s always hot in Australia,’ Mycroft said as he sipped his coffee. They were sitting on the balcony of the expensive hotel, Greg sneaking a cigarette. ‘It won’t cool down until July. In Hobart, the capital of Tasmania, it reaches minus fourteen in winter because it’s so close to the South Pole.’

Greg turned and raised his eyebrows, forcing Mycroft to elaborate.

‘Tasmania is the small island at the bottom of Australia. I can also reach minus five in Canberra, or the ACT, Australia’s capital. In Darwin, that’s the capital at the top of the Northern Territory, it never drops below twenty eight in winter.’

‘Insane,’ Greg said.

‘You only say that because London is always cold,’ Mycroft said, not looking up from the Sunday Telegraph he was reading. ‘Remind me to take you to Uluru, in the Northern Territory. The sunset is spectacular.’

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


They climbed the Sydney Harbour Bridge, visited the Opera House, went to a play at the Wharf Theatre, and enjoyed Manly beach. Everybody was so friendly, Greg never wanted to leave. He commented to Mycroft that Sydney would be a nice place to retire to. Mycroft replied by immediately purchasing a holiday house in Sydney and promising Greg that in the future they’d spend half their time in Sydney and half in London.

Mycroft’s extensive knowledge of the country amazed Greg and eventually he had to buy a map and point out all the places he was talking about. He’d visited most of them on business trips. The only thing he failed at was trying to imitate the Australian accent. It resulted in Greg falling out of bed, laughing hysterically, and Mycroft pouting with his arms folded.

They flew out to Melbourne three days later, the art centre of Australia. They shagged numerous times in their hotel room before flying to Hobart, Adelaide, Perth and Darwin (and they shagged in each of them, too). As Mycroft promised they went to Uluru where Greg learned a bit about the Aboriginals, the indigenous population of Australia that had inhabited the land for over fifty-thousand years.

The sunset was spectacular and Greg’s only complaint was the heat, which everybody in Australia seemed used to.

Three weeks later, after an extensive round trip of Australia which ended with them back in Sydney touring the amazingly clean harbour, they decided on a spontaneous visit to the neighbouring country of New Zealand. They went skiing, were Greg finally learned that there was one thing he was better at then Mycroft.

The souvenirs were getting staggering and Mycroft had to send them ahead on a separate flight.

Then their honeymoon was over and they touched down at an airport in London, tanned, exhausted, but utterly happy. They had sex in the car on the way to the flat and then spent a good five hours putting away all their purchases. They then shagged long into the night before jet leg took over and they fell asleep, tired but happy.


	25. Taken

They fell back into their routines, Greg chasing bag guys and Mycroft disappearing to deal with international leaders. Neither had ever been happier and spent many nights having a quick dinner and shag before one of them had to run back to work. Greg wasn’t happy with seeing so little of his husband but there wasn’t much he could do.

Sherlock and John seemed just as happy and Greg wondered how long until one of them proposed. He remembered Sherlock’s claim that he wasn’t the marrying type but Greg saw the looks he gave the doctor. Sherlock would want to make John officially his eventually.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


One month of not seeing his husband had Greg in a foul mood. He hadn’t had one phone call from Mycroft and was worried something had happened. He spent his nights pacing the flat, calling Mycroft’s phone and getting the voice mail. Eventually he grew so frustrated he threw his mobile at the wall.

‘Damn it, fuck, shit, _fuck!_ ’ Now he’d need a new phone.

Then the door opened and Mycroft entered. He looked completely exhausted and had lost a couple of kilos. But Greg was too bloody furious to worry.

‘Where the fuck have you been?’ he demanded.

Mycroft hung his umbrella and jacket on the coat rack and said, ‘Excuse me?’

‘I haven’t heard from you in a month!’ Greg snarled.

Mycroft sighed. ‘My work was important, Gregory,’ he said tiredly.

Greg turned red in anger. ‘I don’t fucking care how important your work is, Mycroft!’ Mycroft turned to look at him. He’d never seen his partner so angry. ‘You are my fucking husband, Mycroft, and I’d appreciate a simple phone call to let me know you’re alright!’

As usual, Mycroft protected himself by bristling with anger. ‘I don’t have to tell you everything!’ he snapped.

‘Everything?’ Greg said incredulously. ‘How about _something_? For all I know you’ve been fucking shot at one of your “ _international meetings”,’_ he spat the last two words.

‘My work is important!’ Mycroft retorted.

‘I know that!’ Greg said, running his hands through his hair. ‘But a fucking phone call wouldn’t kill you.’

Mycroft said nothing and Greg realised he wasn’t going to reply.

‘Fine,’ he snapped and grabbed his wallet. ‘I was looking forward to having you back but you can just fuck off.’

‘Gregory–’

‘No,’ Greg said. ‘Don’t fucking _Gregory_ me. Just fuck off, Mycroft.’ He stopped at the door. ‘I don’t know why I fucking married you.’

And with that he was gone, slamming the door so hard it hurt Mycroft’s ears. Those last words cut deeply and Mycroft realised he’d really hurt Greg. He cursed his own stupidity and slid the floor, his back pressed against the kitchen counter. He cried silently, spying Greg’s broken phone across the room.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


John hadn’t seen Greg this upset before. He was crying heavily and fell into John’s arms.

‘What’s my idiot brother done?’ Sherlock asked, getting up so John could put Greg on the couch. His usual icy demeanour slipped away at the sight of the broken DI

‘Fucking gone a month,’ Greg said through heaving sobs. ‘Doesn’t even call.’

Sherlock sighed. ‘I’ll talk to him.

‘Don’t bother,’ Greg cried. ‘Fucking don’t want to see him... ever again.’

‘You know that’s not true,’ Sherlock said, at a loss as to how to comfort the DI.

‘Just rest here, Greg,’ John said. ‘Sherlock can go and get some dinner. We can talk about it if you want, or not, and you can spend the night. Actually, stay as long as you want.’

He looked at Sherlock, who nodded and said, ‘Right, food, comfort food... um, pizza, pizza’s always good. And beer, lots of beer. Smokes, too. God I need a cigarette, who needs a cigarette?’

‘And a phone,’ Greg said weakly. ‘I need a new phone... smashed mine.’

Sherlock was out the door in a flash, leaving Greg to be comforted by John.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Mycroft hadn’t heard from Greg in a week. He’d refrained from running to Scotland Yard, getting down on his knees and begging for forgiveness. He knew he’d really screwed up and didn’t know how to apologise.

He was just leaving his office when his phone rang. Mycroft pulled it from his pocket and answered with a tired, ‘Hello?’

‘ _I wish to speak to Mycroft Holmes._ ’

‘Speaking,’ Mycroft said.

‘ _I wonder if you are aware, Mr Holmes, that your boyfriend is missing?_ ’

Mycroft froze and Anthea bumped into him. ‘Sir?’ When Mycroft made no reply, she began typing away at her Blackberry.

‘Who are you?’ Mycroft asked.

‘ _An enemy of Mr Sherlock Holmes,’_ the male voice said. ‘ _We would not have involved you if your boyfriend hadn’t tried so valiantly to protect Doctor Watson, whom I believe will eventually be your brother-in-law._ ’

Mycroft licked his lips, his mind racing quickly. Someone who hated Sherlock had tried to take John to get back at him. Mycroft and Greg had fought, resulting in Greg going to John’s. The kidnapping had taken place and they’d been forced to take Greg, too. They’d swiped the DI’s phone, seen the messages between Greg and Mycroft, and assumed they could get some money, or something more dangerous, out of Mycroft.

In conclusion, these men had absolutely no idea who they had messed with. Sherlock was dangerous, but Mycroft had the power to back up his threats. And he would stop at _nothing_ to get Gregory Lestrade back.

‘What do you want?’ Mycroft asked. ‘Clearly this doesn’t concern us; your business is with Sherlock.’

‘ _Ah, but you share the same last name. Do tell what your relation is._ ’

Mycroft had never hated his brother more than he did in those minutes. Because of Sherlock’s stupid _fucking_ behaviour, Greg was in trouble.

‘He’s my little brother,’ Mycroft said. ‘Any bad blood you have is with him, not me.’

‘ _Oh, but we have your boyfriend now,_ ’ the man said. ‘ _We have informed Sherlock of our demands and he will meet them if he wants his doctor back._ ’

‘What do I have to do to see that DI Lestrade is returned safely?’ Mycroft asked.

The man chuckled. ‘ _Ask your brother_.’

And the line went dead.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Mycroft threw his phone at Anthea, who caught it deftly and began running a trace while at the same time following her boss downstairs.

‘Where’s Sherlock?’ Mycroft shouted.

‘Just stepped into Scotland Yard and is currently arguing with DI Michael Dimmock,’ Anthea informed him. They both climbed into Mycroft’s car and were whisked out of the building.

‘Scotland Yard!’ Mycroft shouted at Joshua before turning to Anthea. ‘What happened?’

She gave her boss the Blackberry and Mycroft stared at the small screen. It showed the view from the spy camera’s Mycroft had had installed at 221B Baker Street. He watched as John and Greg chatted on the couch before the door flew open. There were eight men but Greg and John fought bravely. John managed to shoot three and Lestrade beat two over the head with Sherlock’s violin and a human skull.

But they were outnumbered and taken down, bashed over the head to knock them out. Mycroft felt pain claw in his stomach as Greg’s body was dragged from the flat.

‘Damn it!’ Mycroft shouted and threw the phone at the door. It cracked and Anthea winced. ‘Why the fuck wasn’t I told?’ Mycroft demanded.

‘Sir, your brother’s surveillance was following him and... well, Greg’s was changing shifts. It happened too quickly.’

‘What the fuck are these idiots being paid for?’ Mycroft seethed. ‘If anything happens to Greg I will personally kill each and every one of them and make sure they know it! I want them at 221B Baker Street looking for clues! I want every goddamn CCTV camera on the street looked at. Find my goddamn husband!’

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Scotland Yard was in turmoil. One of their best DI’s had been kidnapped and everybody was having a difficult time handling it, especially with a sociopath shouting at anyone who came within ten feet of him.

Donovan was trying to take over but Sherlock was in the lobby screaming his head off. The consulting detective was a mess and couldn’t pull himself together until his brother appeared.

‘This is your fault!’ Mycroft shouted at his brother and everybody within a ten metre radius scurried away. ‘You and your fucking detective crap!’

‘Greg’s a cop, he’s in danger all the time!’ Sherlock shouted back. He wasn’t about to take Mycroft’s abuse, not now, not when John was missing.

Both brothers were being torn apart and could only take it out on each other.

‘If anything happens to him, Sherlock, I swear to God I will fucking kill you myself!’ Mycroft snarled.

‘Don’t be stupid, Mycroft, you’re a fucking idiot!’ Sherlock snapped. His brain was going too quickly for him to come up with snappy retorts.

Mycroft lunged forward and grabbed his brother by the coat. ‘I will fucking kill you, Sherlock, I swear–’

‘ALRIGHT, ENOUGH!’

Mycroft and Sherlock turned to see DI Dimmock. He was glaring at both of them.

‘This is how you’re going to find John and Greg? By yelling at each other? Un-fucking-believable! How you managed to get two great guys like that is beyond me!’

‘How dare you–’ Mycroft began to spit at his friend.

‘Shut up, Mycroft!’ Dimmock snapped. ‘Both of you, with me, now!’

They were so shocked, the Holmes brothers followed Dimmock outside. He pulled out a packet of cigarettes and handed them each one.

‘I know you’re angry, I know you’re scared,’ he said as they lit their smokes. ‘But yelling at each other isn’t going to help John and Greg. Now you two have a smoke, calm the fuck down, stop snapping at each other, and put those giant fucking brains to good use!’

Sherlock and Mycroft complied, sucking on their cigarettes quickly. Anthea stood slightly away, staring open-mouthed at Dimmock. She’d never seen anyone speak to Mycroft like that and live.

With their cigarettes done, Mycroft turned to his brother.

‘221B,’ Sherlock began.

‘You can explain on the way–’ Mycroft said.

‘Yes, about who has a grudge against me–’

‘–with the equipment and skill to pull this off–’

‘–and we’ll follow the clues–’

‘–and get our men back,’ Mycroft finished.

Dimmock and Anthea stared at them, mouths slightly open. They’d gone from screaming lunatics to genius analysts in the space of five minutes.

‘Shouldn’t we tell the Yard’s what’s happening?’ Dimmock asked.

‘Screw the Yard, they can’t help,’ Sherlock snapped.

‘He’s right,’ Mycroft said. ‘They’ll just get in the way. While the police force is great, Michael, right now Sherlock and I can’t have them getting in our way.’

‘Right, ’course,’ Dimmock said.

They pulled up at 221B and the Holmeses were out the door before the car had fully stopped, leaving Anthea and Dimmock to sprint after them.

For the next half-an-hour, the two brothers stalked around the flat, barking at Mrs Hudson when she got in the way. Dimmock questioned the old woman but she hadn’t heard anything.

‘Something about yellow shoes,’ Dimmock grumbled to Anthea.

Mycroft turned to stare at him. ‘Yellow shoes?’

Dimmock nodded. ‘Mrs Hudson said there was a kid standing outside all night, dressed in black, wearing yellow shoes.’

‘Fuck,’ Mycroft groaned.

‘Sir?’ Anthea said.

‘There’s a new gang on the rise, by the name of Yellow Shersowa. The leader, for some reason, wears a pair of yellow joggers to show he’s in command. Anthea, we discussed this last month.’

Anthea quickly flipped through her mind (eidetic memory comes in handy) and said, ‘Yes, right. They made their base in a warehouse down by the Thames.’

Sherlock winced under his brother’s glare.

‘What the fuck did you do to annoy the Yellow Shersowa?’

‘Nothing,’ Sherlock said, ‘I don’t know who they are!’

‘What did the kidnapper say to you?’ Mycroft demanded.

Sherlock froze as he recounted the words in his head, flipping through old cases and trying to match everything up. Finally it clicked into place.

‘Last month,’ he said, ‘I helped Dimmock here arrest a drug dealer. He was the main runner for some small up-coming gang.’ He swallowed. ‘I didn’t realise they’d turn into anything serious.’

‘We have to go,’ Mycroft said and the other three followed him down stairs.

‘Wait, we have to call the Yard!’ Dimmock insisted when they reached the car. ‘You can’t just go into a gang controlled warehouse!’

Mycroft glared at him. ‘Watch me.’

He and Sherlock hopped into the car and it sped away before Dimmock or Anthea could climb in.

Dimmock looked across at the pretty woman. ‘What do we do now?’

‘Wait around hoping the Holmeses don’t get themselves shot,’ she answered.

‘Right,’ Dimmock grunted. ‘I say we get a cab down to the warehouse. I’ll call my team and get the address.’

Anthea grinned and said, ‘I’m liking you more and more with each passing day, Michael.’

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


‘What’s the plan?’ Sherlock asked, for once trusting his brother’s brain over his own. Sherlock might have hated it, but Mycroft was smarter than him.

‘Don’t have one,’ Mycroft said. ‘What did they demand?’

‘A million dollars,’ Sherlock said, ‘which I know you have.’

‘They’ll just kill Gregory and John once they have the money. No, we go in stealthily, find them, and kill whoever we can.’

Sherlock had never seen this side of his brother. He’d heard about it, seen the edges of it, but never seen the darkness and absolute _danger_ until now.

‘You really love him,’ Sherlock said.

‘Of course I do,’ Mycroft replied, ‘and you love John.’ He paused. ‘We do stupid things for love.’

‘I know,’ Sherlock said and rested a hand on his brother’s shoulder. ‘But it’s worth it.’

The car slowed and Joshua said, ‘We’re here, Mr Mycroft.’

‘Thank you, Joshua,’ Mycroft said. ‘Keep the car running. If Gregory and John are in here then drive, don’t worry about us.’

Joshua hesitated but finally nodded. ‘Yes, sir. Good luck, Mr Mycroft.’

Mycroft thanked the man and he and Sherlock climbed out of the car.

‘We don’t exactly have weapons, Mycroft,’ the younger Holmes said.

Mycroft smiled, an actual smile, but it was far from pleasant. No, he was out for blood, and Sherlock knew he’d get it. His older brother flipped the boot open and pressed a button. The carpet flipped to reveal a small collection of pistols, machine guns, grenades, and knives.

‘Minor position my arse,’ Sherlock muttered as he grabbed a gun and some grenades.

Mycroft said, ‘Ready?’ and held his own weapons with skill.

Sherlock nodded. ‘Mycroft, if I get hit or something, which there’s a high chance I will because, well, I’m me, just make sure John’s okay. And make sure he knows I love him.’

‘I will, brother,’ Mycroft said.

‘I’ll do the same for you,’ Sherlock said.

Mycroft smiled. For once there was no childish bickering, no sibling rivalry. They were just two men who loved each other and were about to do whatever they could to save the other men they loved.

‘Let’s go,’ Mycroft said and clicked the boot shut.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Greg rolled his neck. His head ached, there was a large gash across his cheek, and a few ribs felt broken. Maybe a broken wrist, too. He looked across at John; the doctor was covered in blood but managed to smile weakly at Greg.

‘Those fucking Holmeses,’ Greg grunted.

‘Tell me about it,’ John said.

Someone shouted from the corner of the warehouse.

‘They’ll come for us,’ Greg said. 

John nodded. ‘I know.’

There was more shouting but Greg and John ignored it.

‘I’m getting too old for this shit,’ Greg groaned. He was turning fifty at the end of this year. Time to settle down, start a family, and stop getting kidnapped because your brother-in-law is a fucking maniac!

Something in the shadows to Greg’s right caught his eye and he watched it carefully. John caught sight too but like Greg wasn’t going to gawk. If this were a rescue operation neither one were going to ruin it.

The slim frame of Sherlock Holmes crept up to the two captives. He began untying Greg first, as he was closest, and Greg knew it must be killing him not rush over to John.

‘Where’s Mycroft?’ Greg whispered.

‘Around,’ Sherlock said and smirked. ‘What do you think all the shouting’s about?’

There were gunshots then and mini-explosions. It sounded like a small army was attacking the warehouse. Greg was free and Sherlock handed him a gun before going to untie John. Greg swivelled around, bruised eyes taking everything in.

Something exploded close by and the three were thrown off their feet. Greg’s head hit the ground and he saw stars before somebody was pulling him up.

‘Greg, come on!’

Greg realised it was Dimmock and looked up to see the young DI firing at someone. And right beside him was Anthea, also gun in hand. Greg began to wonder if he was hallucinating.

‘This is very real, love.’

Greg grinned at the voice and dragged himself up. Mycroft had a gun in hand and was firing at a hidden enemy. He grinned at his husband.

‘Thank God you’re okay,’ Mycroft said.

‘That’s everyone,’ Sherlock said. ‘Let’s go!’

The small, strange group made up of two police officers, a consulting detective, a government official, a doctor, and a personal assistant, rushed from the warehouse. They were halfway to the car when Mycroft shouted, ‘DOWN!’

Everyone threw themselves to the concrete and the warehouse behind them exploded, showering the surrounding area with debris.

An eerie silence fell after that and there were coughs, splutters, and swearing as a thick fire raged behind them in the ruins. Mycroft was the first up and he grabbed Greg, kissing him furiously.

‘I’m so glad you’re okay.’

‘I’ve been through worse’ Greg said and hugged his husband tightly. ‘Thank you for coming for me.’

‘I always will,’ Mycroft said. ‘You can count on it.’ He paused before continuing. ‘Greg, I’m so sorry. I should have called, I should have apologised, I’m such a fucking idiot.’

Greg silenced him with a kiss. ‘It’s alright, dear. Just next time make a simple call.’

Mycroft smiled and kissed him back.

Sherlock was looking John all over, running his fingers over the doctor’s face. John was grumbling but smiling at the same time. Dimmock and Anthea were going at it, hands and lips everywhere. The two gay couples completely ignored them.

Joshua appeared with the car. ‘Hello there,’ he said from the car. ‘Would anyone care for a lift?’

‘We better leave while we can,’ Mycroft said. He grabbed Dimmock. ‘You weren’t here, understand?’

The DI nodded. ‘’Course not. I spent the night with my new girlfriend here.’ He kissed Anthea on the cheek and she blushed.

‘I was with Michael the entire night,’ she said.

‘Mycroft and I were at 221B Baker Street with Mrs Hudson,’ Sherlock said.

‘And John and I escaped when what we assumed was an enemy gang attacked and managed to get to the hospital,’ Greg said.

‘Sounds about right,’ John grinned.

They piled into the car as sirens filled the air.


	26. Children

Greg and John stumbled into the hospital alone, having been dropped off around the corner. They repeated their cover stories and soon Greg’s boss was brought in, trailed by Donovan.

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Are you serious? The two Freaks had nothing to do with it?’

‘No,’ John said.

‘Could we call them?’ Greg asked.

‘They’ll be worried,’ John added.

Nobody believed any of it. But there was no proof. When Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes staged a battle in the middle of London, killed twenty-three people, and blew a warehouse up, they did a very good job of making sure they couldn’t be linked to it.

Mrs Hudson, dear Mrs Hudson, was adamant that Sherlock and Mycroft had been with her all night, worrying about whether John and Greg were okay. She was paid handsomely but informed the brothers she didn’t need money to back them up. Mycroft made her take it nonetheless. Dimmock and Anthea were found at his flat, half naked, and though Dimmock was seen leaving with the brothers, he said they’d parted ways after reaching Baker Street.

It would be all over the news for three weeks, prompting many to speculate that a British spy was involved. Greg would smile at Mycroft, who’d simply raise an eyebrow.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Finally the Holmeses were allowed in and Mycroft rushed to Greg’s side, Sherlock to John’s. They were both in private rooms and Mycroft sighed, sitting heavily in a chair by Greg’s bed.

‘I was so worried,’ Mycroft admitted.

‘I know,’ Greg said, squeezing Mycroft’s hand. ‘Michael said you and Sherlock had a screaming match in Scotland Yard.’

Mycroft smiled slightly. ‘I needed to blame someone.’

Greg winced and leaned back.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah,’ Greg said, ‘I’m just getting too old for this crap. I’ll leave the running around and kidnapping to John and Sherlock.’

Mycroft smiled. ‘You’re far from old, Gregory.’

‘I’m nearly fifty,’ Greg said. ‘I can’t keep this up forever. If I don’t get a desk job I’ll just... I dunno, retire and live out my days in our flat.’

Mycroft snorted. ‘I doubt you’d like that. And who would give Sherlock new cases?’

‘Michael can take care of that,’ Greg said, ‘I heard he handled you two well.’

‘Yes, he did, actually,’ Mycroft said. ‘He’s a very good DI; I think he and Sherlock will get along fine.’

Greg smiled and laid back down.

‘Do you really want to retire?’ Mycroft asked.

‘Soon,’ Greg said, ‘very soon, Myc.’

Mycroft kissed Greg’s hand. ‘I’ll support you in whatever you want, love.’

Greg smiled and drifted to sleep.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


‘I want children,’ Greg said.

Mycroft turned to look at him. Greg and John were finally being released and Mycroft was helping Greg into a wheelchair, which the doctors were insistent he sit in until he was in the parking lot.

‘Children?’ Mycroft said.

Greg nodded. ‘Little ones; a family, Mycroft. I want to start a family with you as soon as possible.’

Mycroft grinned. ‘I’ll look into surrogates.’

Greg smiled and kissed him.


	27. Planning A Family

Despite having influence in every aspect of life, both illegal and not, Mycroft Holmes had so far failed to find a surrogate. It had been four months since Greg had voice his want to start a family and each day that went past Mycroft got more and more excited. He was looking forward to being a father and raising children with Gregory Lestrade.

But there was nobody good enough, nobody smart or safe enough, to carry their child. Mycroft sighed and threw the papers he’d been reading across the room. He was sitting on the floor and laid back, putting his hands behind his head. He blinked up at the ceiling.

‘We’re never going to have a family.’

‘We will, dear,’ Greg answered from his position at the dining table.

‘If only Sherlock were a girl,’ Mycroft mused.

Greg chuckled. There was a knock at the door and Greg said, ‘Come in!’

Anthea stepped in looking at her Blackberry. She tapped at it before shutting the door and said, ‘Good evening, sir, Gregory.’

‘Hello Anthea,’ Greg smiled.

‘Not going well?’ Anthea asked.

She was a perceptive woman and Mycroft sighed, sitting up. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. ‘I absolutely hate everybody and everything,’ he complained.

‘Not true, dear,’ Greg said simply.

‘Absolutely false,’ Anthea replied.

Mycroft muttered something about them ganging up on him and sprawled back on the floor.

‘I think I have an answer, Gregory,’ Anthea said and looked up from her phone.

‘You do?’ Greg asked, lifting his eyebrows.

Mycroft shifted so that he was still lying on the floor but looking up at Anthea.

‘I can be your surrogate,’ Anthea said.

There was silence, Greg’s eyes wide, Mycroft’s narrowed, and Anthea’s on her Blackberry.

‘As amazing as that gesture is, we can’t ask you to do that, Anthea,’ Greg said gently. ‘You’ve just started dating Michael.’

‘I discussed it with him, he thinks it’s a fabulous idea. Also, the idea of having Mycroft Holmes owe us a favour is very tempting.’ She smirked at her last words. ‘Besides, Mycroft has done so much for me. I was nothing before this job. Now the whole world is at my feet. I have a wonderful boyfriend because of you, Greg. I’m only thirty-three; I can do this and still have plenty of time for children of my own.’

There was silence again as that sunk in. Greg looked at Mycroft, who was now on his feet. Could they really do this?

Mycroft rushed forward and enveloped Anthea in a tight hug. He pulled back and kissed her on the lips, making Anthea blush furiously and Greg shout, ‘Oi!’

‘So sorry, love,’ Mycroft said over his shoulder. ‘But my young friend here has just made me the happiest man in the world.’

Anthea grinned and pulled back from her boss, trying to smooth her features. ‘It would be my honour, sir.’

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Appointments were set up, sperm was donated (Greg and Mycroft both agreed to donate in the hopes that it would up their chances on Anthea falling pregnant). Finally they had the appointment that would determine if Anthea was pregnant.

She laid back on the chair, looking at the doctor with Greg and Mycroft beside her. The doctor swabbed at her stomach for a few minutes before looking at them.

He broke into a smile that had all three of them grinning. ‘Congratulations, you’re pregnant.’

Mycroft and Greg hugged and kissed before turning their affection of Anthea.

‘I would have said no if I knew it came with all this kissing,’ she grumbled but was still pleased.

Once outside Greg and Mycroft both pulled out their phones.

‘WE’RE HAVING A BABY, SHE’S PREGNANT!’ Greg shouted when John answered.

‘ _Not that I’m not thrilled, but please don’t deafen my, Greg._ ’

‘Sorry, I’m sorry,’ Greg said, grinning like a lunatic. ‘I’m just so fucking happy.’

John laughed. ‘ _Yeah, I can tell. Drinks at Baker Street_?’

‘Count on it,’ Greg said. ‘Six pm, I’m bringing the wine.’

There was a pause before John said, ‘ _I take it Mycroft’s just told Sherlock, he’s jumping around shouting that the baby better be as smart as him. Congratulations again, Greg._ ’

‘Thanks,’ Greg said and hung up.

‘Sherlock, Anthea’s pregnant, Gregory and I are going to be fathers,’ Mycroft told his brother.

There was a pause as Sherlock soaked up the information.

‘Sherlock?’ Mycroft frowned. ‘Are you there?’

‘ _You’d better start the lessons early, Mycroft,’_ Sherlock was suddenly saying. _‘Nine months old is never too young to start basic language skills. And boxing, better teach the baby boxing like Father taught us. And those videos we used to watch, we’d better find some of them. Kids shows these days lack any sophistication and–_ ’

He stopped suddenly. Both brothers breathed into their phones.

‘ _Mycroft_?’

‘Yes, Sherlock?’

‘ _I’m glad you’re going to be a father.’_

‘Thank you, Sherlock.’

‘ _Congratulations_.’

Both brothers grinned.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Mycroft made sure Anthea’s every need was met. She moved into their flat briefly under the condition that Dimmock be allowed to come over for dinner at least twice a week and stay on weekends. Mycroft and Greg agreed straight away, loving the extra company.

It wasn’t visible that Anthea was pregnant when they went for the ultra-sound, the one that would determine the sex of the baby. All had agreed not to find out... they wanted the surprise and the fun of thinking up names for both sexes.

Once again Anthea found herself in a chair, cold goo squeezed onto her stomach and wand pushed against her skin. The very best doctor money could buy (and Mycroft had a lot of money), looked at the screen as he ran the ultra sound.

‘And you don’t want to know the sex?’ he asked.

All three shook their heads.

The doctor smiled suddenly at the screen.

‘What?’ Anthea asked.

‘I should haves said _sexes_ ,’ the doctor said. ‘It’s twins.’

Mycroft nearly fell over and Greg grabbed him. ‘Twins?’

‘Twins run in my family,’ Greg said.

‘And mine,’ Anthea commented. ‘I have twin sisters, they’re younger than me.’

‘Julie and Jane,’ Mycroft muttered.

Anthea rolled her eyes before saying, ‘I assure you they’ll be yours. Michael and I haven’t had sex since I agreed to this.’

‘Too much information,’ Greg chuckled.

‘I’m having your kids and _that_ is too much information?’ Anthea said.

Mycroft and Greg grinned.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Phone calls were made and a party was planned. It seemed that every piece of good news was met with an all night party at Baker Street. Sherlock was growing to enjoy them as he spent the night pilfering phones and changing contact names. His imagination had grown since the last time.

Greg’s phone book turned into the following;

John Watson = _Doctor Sex God_

Mycroft Holmes = _00Fat_

Sherlock Holmes = _Curly-Haired Sex Machine_

DI Michael Dimmock = _Nicked His Warrant Card_ (This began a long tradition of Sherlock taking the DI’s warrant cards and badges, with many citizen’s complaining that a ‘DI Dimmock’ was harassing them. Greg had flashbacks and Sherlock added the badges and cards to his box of the one’s he’d nicked from Greg)

Anderson = _Dickhead_ (Simple but to the point)

Donovan = _Donner of Affairs_ (Greg didn’t understand this one but was sure it was some smart remark that made Sherlock look brilliant and him stupid)

Mycroft’s phone was as follows;

John Watson = _Doctor of Blow Jobs_

Gregory Lestrade = _Useless_

DI Michael Dimmock = _Useless_

Anthea = _Useless_

Sally Donovan = _Useless_

William Anderson = _Useless_

David Cameron = _Useless_

Matthew Bellamy = _Useless_

Julia Gillard = _Useless_

David Tennant = _Useless_

Barrack Obama = _Useless_

Her Royal Majesty The Queen = _Alright, I Guess_

The list went on and on...

It took Mycroft all of three minutes to swap it all back. He left Greg to his torture of trying to remember who he was speaking to when they called.

Afterwards pizza was thrown, hair was pulled, and Sherlock sulked for twenty minutes behind the television. After a lot of soothing from John he came back out and made up with his brother and Greg.

It was a fantastic night that ended up with Greg and Mycroft shagging loudly in the lounge room. They didn’t care who heard and that made it so much better.


	28. Retirement

Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade went out with a bang. Mycroft organised a massive party and all of Greg’s floor took a few hours off, some running off to hunt criminals, others staying to chat and say farewell.

Michael Dimmock and a pregnant Anthea were found making out in Dimmock’s office and Mycroft caused an entire room full of people to whistle when he grabbed Greg at the end of his speech and kissed him passionately.

Sherlock actually enjoyed himself, spending most of his time swapping people’s things from one desk to another. John got drunk and proclaimed to anyone who was unfortunate enough to cross his path that Sherlock was a damn good shag. Greg was soon shouting at him, saying the older Holmes was by far better. It ended with a small tussle that had both men on their arses, laughing hysterically.

Mycroft sat back and watched his husband with a grin. Occasionally he’d have to make a phone call but mostly he was given the night off, a rare treat. Greg fell into his lap at two am and said, ‘I love you.’

‘And I you,’ Mycroft said, kissing Greg quickly.

Greg leaned his head against Mycroft’s shoulder. ‘Thank you for doing this.’

‘It was my pleasure, love.’

Greg grinned. ‘How did I ever manage to snag a man like you?’

‘The real question is; how was I lucky enough to get you?’

Greg grinned and kissed him. Things soon got heated and they disappeared into Greg’s office for a few hours, where the odd moan and cry of, ‘Oh my God!’ could be heard by anyone who walked past.

The entire shindig ended with a massive drenching when Greg and Sherlock, sneaking quick cigarettes in an empty office, set off the fire alarms. The fire brigade turned up, wrists were slapped, and everybody was cautioned.

It was a bloody good night.


	29. Names, Promises, and A Very Understanding Husband

John Watson grinned at Mycroft and Greg, each holding a bundle wrapped up. The eldest twin was wrapped in a blue blanket, his younger brother in a green one. The happy couple were grinning from ear-to-ear. Sherlock stood in the corner staring at the wall, frowning.

‘Have you thought of names yet?’ John asked, leaning over Greg and wagging his index finger in the baby’s face. He’d chosen to approach Greg over Mycroft, who had made himself clear with regards to family. Mycroft had kidnapped John just for moving in with Sherlock... what if he accidentally hurt one of the twins?

‘We have,’ Greg said and looked up at his husband.

Mycroft moved closer so that the twins were side by side. They looked identical. _Although most babies do_ , John mused.

‘Are they stupid names?’ Sherlock demanded from the corner. ‘I refused to be related to anybody with a dull name like–’

‘John?’ John suggested. ‘John is a dull name.’

Sherlock frowned at his boyfriend. ‘No, John is not a dull name. It’s...’

He trailed off and John grinned. ‘Completely dull,’ he said.

‘Well, weren’t not naming either of them John,’ Greg said. ‘And despite my husband’s insistence, we are not naming our boys Standish and Leonardo.’

‘Leonardo da Vinci was a fantastic man,’ Mycroft said.

Greg rolled his eyes. ‘They're called Lockland Johnathan and Beckett Sherlock. Lockland’s in the blue blanket and Beckett’s in the green.’

‘What last name do they have?’ John asked.

‘Holmes,’ Greg said. ‘Holmes-Lestrade sounds stupid, and besides,’ he grinned at his partner, ‘Holmes carries a lot of weight.’

Mycroft rolled his eyes.

‘Lockland?’ Sherlock said, staring at his brother with narrowed eyes. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

‘I would,’ Mycroft smiled. ‘Come and meet Lockland, Sherlock.’

Sherlock glared at his brother.

‘What’s wrong?’ John asked.

‘Okay, what’s going on?’ Greg sighed.

Mycroft smiled. ‘Shall I tell the story?’

‘Don’t-you- _dare_!’ Sherlock snarled, stating each word carefully.

But Mycroft’s grin just broadened. ‘When we were young, and Sherlock didn’t hate me, I used to call him Lockie. So whenever we met anyone new, they would assume his name was Lachlan, and he went so far as to spell it L-O-C-K-L-A-N-D because that looked better written than the traditional spelling. Lockland was a normal name, Sherlock wasn’t. And Sherlock hated being teased.’ He paused and looked his brother over. ‘Eventually, when he grew to hate me, he went back to stating that his name was unique like he was. Now he never lets me call him Lockie.’

‘That was a stupid part of my life when I had yet to accept how brilliant I was,’ Sherlock said.

‘It was a part of Sherlock’s life when he wanted to be like everybody else,’ Mycroft said. ‘And I miss my brother, the one I was allowed to call Lockie.’

Sherlock growled and crossed his arms.

John and Greg grinned.

‘Ah, that’s so cute,’ John said and leaned over Lockland, ‘named after your Uncle Lockie.’

‘If he was named after me he would be called _Sherlock_.’

John rolled his eyes.

‘I think it’s a nice name,’ Greg said. ‘Better then boring old Greg.’

‘Gregory is not a boring name,’ Mycroft said and kissed his husband. When they failed to break apart for a minute, John cleared his throat.

‘Not in front of the children,’ he joked.

Mycroft and Greg laughed. The past few weeks neither had had a chance to be alone. They’d spent all their time making sure Anthea was okay and that they were prepared for the babies.

Soon John was allowed to hold one of the twins and he smiled down at the baby, saying, ‘Uncle John will always be here to protect you... though one of your fathers occupies _a minor position in the British Government_ , so I wouldn’t be worried.’ John added emphasis on the words Mycroft had said to him so long ago.

Mycroft smiled. ‘It’s only a small position, I assure you.’

The collected group laughed.

Sherlock hated being left out, absolutely hated it. So finally he moved from his spot in the corner and approached. He looked down at Beckett, who was being held by Mycroft, and then at Lockland, who John had.

‘Want to hold him?’ John asked.

Sherlock shook his head but John didn’t care. He handed across the baby and he and Greg kept their eyes on Sherlock, making sure he didn’t drop him.

The little body was warm in Sherlock’s arms, surprisingly warm. He shifted about so that he was comfortable and looked down at the baby. He had a clean, pink face, with a little upturned nose that Sherlock somehow found cute. His hard exterior was quickly softening and broke down all together when Lockland opened his eyes.

They were a startling blue, just like Mycroft’s and Sherlock’s. It wasn’t hard to see that the twins would grow up to look like Mycroft... and perhaps Sherlock, too.

Suddenly Sherlock was grinning as Lockland looked at him. He leaned down and started making noises, bouncing the little baby. Lockland seemed to like that and was content to be nestled in his uncle’s arms.

‘Ah, look at the sociopath, gone all gooey over the baby,’ John laughed.

Sherlock didn’t bother glaring at him. He was too consumed with the baby.

Mycroft smiled and handed Beckett to Greg. He then crossed and hugged his brother, making sure not to hurt the baby.

‘What was that for?’ Sherlock asked, staring at his brother.

‘For being you,’ Mycroft smiled and there was the hint of tears in his eyes.

Not comfortable with the sudden display of affection from his brother, Sherlock handed Lockland to him and left.

John said, ‘Be back in a minute,’ and followed Sherlock outside.

‘What’s wrong?’ John asked.

Sherlock pulled John into a hug and kissed him furiously, drawing the eyes of at least a dozen people. When they broke apart John raised his eyebrows.

‘Seeing them... new life,’ Sherlock said and looked at John carefully. ‘I love you, John. And I want to marry you and have babies with you.’

John froze, completely shocked. This wasn’t how he’d imagined his day turning out.

‘You... you what?’

Sherlock rolled his eyes. ‘I want to marry you and have babies. Granted, we’ll have to use a surrogate like my brother and Greg... but we can do it.’

‘You... you want to have children?’ John said, still in shock. ‘You want to marry me?’

‘I don’t have a ring,’ Sherlock said but he got down on one knee anyway. ‘John Hamish Watson, will you marry me?’

John stared down at him for three seconds before saying, ‘Yes.’

Sherlock grinned broadly and leapt up, wrapping his arms around John.

In the doorway, Mycroft and Greg smiled at the happy couple.

‘Seems celebrations all around,’ Greg said.

Mycroft nodded. ‘I never thought my brother would get married. I never thought _I_ would get married.’

Greg smiled and kissed Mycroft fiercely. ‘I’m glad your thoughts were wrong.’

Mycroft had to agree and he grinned, kissing his husband carefully. Mycroft’s phone beeped and they both groaned, breaking apart. Mycroft answered it and had a quick and hushed conversation before hanging up. He looked at Greg.

‘I know, you have to go,’ Greg sighed.

‘I will in five minutes,’ Mycroft said, ‘I want to look at the twins again.’ He paused. ‘I’m sorry, Gregory.’

‘That’s okay,’ Greg said, ‘I know what your job is like.’

He knew it was important, that what Mycroft did mattered. Mycroft’s work would always interfere with their lives but it couldn’t be helped. Greg knew his husband loved his job but the important thing was that he loved his family more. And despite going when he was called, if it were Mycroft’s choice, he’d stay with his family.

The couple kissed quickly before going back into the room to admire the newest additions to their family, Lockland and Beckett Holmes.

  
  


{THE END}

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** And this is the end! It feels like I've been writing fanfic forever, but this was my first Mystrade story and I only wrote it two years ago.
> 
> Anywho, I hope you enjoyed it, and thanks for all the comments and kudos, I appreciate them all :)
> 
> Cheers,
> 
> {IBegToDreamAndDiffer}


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